


A Way We Go

by wbss21



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, BAMF Loki, Gen, Humiliation, Jane and Loki are friends, Loki Needs a Hug, Poor Loki, loki is a gentleman, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:05:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor 2 AU, possible spoilers. Thor's little brother is psychotic. Jane knows that. And she can't begin to fathom why it is he's helping them to fight back against the Dark Elves. Or why he seems concerned for her well being at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A Way We Go

Chapter 1:

"You should have come to me sooner."

The words are said with vicious anger, voice trembling uncharacteristically with barely suppressed emotion.

His back is turned towards him, slim shoulders hunched in shaking tension, arms crossed over a thin, thin chest and head slightly bowed.

He sees the curtain of black hair drape loose, and for some reason it is that, above the rest of his brother's haggard and emaciated appearance, which reminds the thunderer of just how far Loki has fallen.

Loki, who had always kept his own personage immaculately ordered and clean. Always ridiculously well groomed, putting the elder Prince to shame in such matters of personal care.

He now stands as a homeless man, unruly and disheveled.

He is too thin.

He has always been too thin.

But it has grown worse this past year, for the younger Prince's refusal to eat at all, spare the bare minimum to keep from dying and suffering the humiliation of being force fed.

The sharpness of his features has increased tenfold, it seems, with the gaunt, sunken in appearances of his cheeks and eyes.

And what tattered clothes he wears hang on him in loose swaths of fabric, barely staying in place.

The faded green, knitted tunic slips dangerously to one side, threatening any moment to slide completely from Loki's left shoulder and expose the pale skin to open air.

His pants sag almost indecently low on skeletal thin hips.

And Thor wonders how it is the man he once considered his best friend and brother is going to help them at all, given how weak he now appears.

He looks so, so weak.

Thor stares a long moment at the trembling form before him, through the barrier of pure, magical energy.

He knows it is this brightly lit cage which is, in part, to blame for Loki's state.

It is suppressing his magic. And Loki's magic is his life.

Without it, he withers.

… Without it, he dies.

Thor had told himself at the beginning of this imprisonment, he wouldn't allow himself to feel sorry for his brother.

That he deserved this, and more, for what he had done.

Looking at him now, Thor finds it difficult to hold to that commitment.

"I could not trust you." The god of Thunder at last deigns to speak, stepping closer to the barrier.

He can feel the pull of it against his own magic, a rush of lightheadedness taking sudden hold, and he feels slightly sick.

… To be constantly surrounded, constantly immersed in it…

"… Could not trust me." He hears Loki whisper in echo, and watches as the younger god's hand curls to fist, pressed against the wall he faces.

Watches as he leans his forehead to it, the trembling in his frame growing more pronounced.

"… Could not trust me," he repeats. "and now our Mother…"

He freezes, a harsh shudder working through him before abruptly he pulls rigidly stiff.

Thor hears a shaking breath escape past his lips, and he frowns.

He had not expected this.

… Had not expected anything but cruel amusement and mocking jibes.

He swears now Loki seems on the verge of tears.

"The Queen is dead." At last the trickster goes on, voice more steady, yet still wavering, as though he's gotten hold of himself only just through great effort. "You should have come to me sooner!"

Thor swallows thickly, shame and regret lifting like bile into his throat, and he presses it down, telling himself it is only a trick, only Loki's hideous talent of inciting and planting thought and emotion in his victims.

"We thought we could defend the palace, at least." He tries to defend. "We thought we could beat them back."

And finally it is Loki turns, more swiftly and precisely than Thor thinks should be possible for someone so physically frail.

And there is pure rage in his red rimmed and glassy eyes.

And Thor realizes with a shock the younger Prince is holding back tears.

Loki, who has in the past year become nothing but hard lines and poisonous barbs, and brutally cutting insults.

Loki, whom everyone believed had become nothing but purely mad and black of heart, incapable of any, true emotion or sentiment.

Incapable of love.

Everyone but Frigga.

Their Mother.

Their Queen.

She alone had come to him every day in this place. Come to see him.

And always would she return, even as he sent her away with vicious words and vows of disownment, denials of their having left any relationship at all.

She would return, and say to him he was loved, again and again, until even Loki's hardened outside had begun to soften.

And in these last weeks, before the invasion, Frigga had been so happy, so overcome with joy in reporting that her son had begun to open up to her.

Had begun to talk, and that more than just hate filled vitriol had emitted these last days from his lips.

And it was in the last night, the day before last, Frigga had come from her visit in tears, and both Thor and Odin had asked with angered dismay what Loki had done to her, and she had shaken her head and said…

"Nothing. It is not anything he did to me. It is what they did to him. Oh, my boy… my sweet boy…"

And then she had broken into inconsolably sobs and excused herself to her chambers.

What Loki had told her, only the two of them knew.

And now…

Only Loki knows.

Only Loki…

Whose face now twists in fury as he steps with rapid determination towards the barrier, and for a moment, Thor is sure he will attack it.

But he pulls short, inches away, glaring at the elder Prince, hands clenched at his sides in fists.

"Beat them back?" He asks with incredulous disgust. "They fight near solely though means of magic, and you, what, believed yourself capable of countering such skilled sorcery? You and your ilk know nothing of magic, Thor. There is not one among the mighty warriors of Asgard who may call themselves versed in the dark arts, save the All-Father and myself. And with Odin having fallen so conveniently into the Odinsleep, there is but me! And you come to me only now?! Only after it is too late!?"

Thor steps away, taken aback by the verbal assault being laid at his feet, at how cruelly Loki finds and picks at his guilt.

"You have given no indication of your willingness to help defend your home." He counters, almost desperately. "I did not believe you would."

Loki's face falls, expression going blank.

For a long moment, he stares back at the older god, unmoving.

Until at last, he turns silently away, moving sluggishly and slow across the cell, his back once more to him.

"… And once more your arrogant assumptions lead to us our dooms." He mutters, too softly for Thor to hear.

Thor watches him for a time, uncertain of what will happen now.

If Loki will listen, if he will lend his aid to their cause.

He sees his brother lift a hand, wiping it across his eyes, and he knows he wipes tears from them.

The thunderer feels his stomach clench in nauseating regret.

"… There is another reason brother, why I did not come to you." He says softly, eyes drifting to the stone beneath his feet.

"Claim not your familial ties to me, Odinson." Loki says back, voice low and hoarse. "I am not your brother."

It is a denial he has since grown accustomed to. A repeated refrain from Loki's thin lips and each time delivered in his most elegant and even tones.

If ever Thor thought he might change Loki's heart in this before, that hope has now dwindled and burnt itself nearly out.

He does not think Loki will forgive him now.

Not for this.

Not for their Mother…

He ignores the rejection and continues on.

"He who leads them Loki." He says. "He who led the invasion and slew our Mother in cowardice, cold blood…"

At this, Loki straightens, body stiff and taught as the string of a bow. Anticipating release…

Thor hesitates a brief moment, wretched and cruel memories crowding his mind, torturing his already anguished soul.

"It was Malekith." He says, and then falls silent.

Loki says nothing for long, drawn seconds.

But Thor can see the tremble return to his limbs.

Can see the strain of keeping himself still, of keeping himself planted.

The tremor builds, washing through him like some fragmented wave, and Thor forces himself to keep his eyes on his brother, to keep watch.

Until finally he hears Loki choke out, voice harsh and ragged and rough.

"The Accursed?" He asks, and it sounds not like him.

Thor nods, arms folding.

"Yes." He confirms.

And there it snaps, a roar the likes of which Thor has not heard from the mischief god in many a century, tearing from his throat.

A howl of such overwhelming rage and dismay, it withers the heart and leaves him feeling breathless and trepid.

Loki lashes out, slamming his fists against the white stone wall before him, hard enough that cracks fissure through it and race upwards, towards the ceiling.

He pays the price, the wards taking affect and ripping with renewed vigor at his magic, no longer simply pressing it down, but stealing it from him and siphoning it off.

Loki gasps, white hot agony coursing through his insides and overwhelming him in moments.

He crashes to his knees, hands raising of their own volition and gripping the sides of his skull with enough force to turn the knuckles purely white, and he gasps again, as though he cannot breathe.

"Loki!" Thor steps forward, unable to help his concern.

But Loki gives no reply, sat holding his head and shaking violently for long, endless moments, before at last, whatever pain he is experiencing seems to dissipate, and he slumps forward, entire body seeming to deflate as he sags against the same wall, slight tremors still working their way through him, breath heavy and uneven and quick.

Thor feels himself overcome with the desire to go to him, to hold him and comfort and chase all his hurt away.

He tries to remind himself Loki brought this upon himself.

He tries to use reason.

But it is hard.

Seeing his little brother, suffering and in so much pain.

And with the name of he who drew the outburst, hung between them like a wraith, reminding Thor of his own miserable failure to protect the one being he had sworn on his own life to always keep safe.

Malekith, the Accursed.

The Dark Elf.

The half-breed abomination who had, so many centuries past, captured and tortured his little brother in ways Loki had refused ever to speak of.

Only the condition in which they had finally found the second Prince to tell them of what he had suffered.

And Thor still feels himself grow sick with the memories.

Loki, beaten near to death, pale skin invisible beneath the thick swaths of blood, hair sheared near completely from his scalp and face broken and swollen beyond recognition.

And worst of all, what had been unmistakable signs of his utter degradation and humiliation. The thievery of his dignity.

And it had been Thor's fault. His.

For letting the elves separate him from his brother, even as he hears the echo of Loki's voice, calling out to him to stay close and guard his back.

For seeing too late the focus shift almost entirely onto the second Prince, the attacks turning and centering on him solely.

For it was Loki alone who had been keeping their forces at bay. Who could counter their spells and render their own magic useless. For none among them, though they prided themselves on their mastery of seidr, could match the trickster god in pure talent and ability.

And they had seen, to make any success of their campaign, they would need to remove Loki from the battle.

And so they had swarmed him, redoubling their efforts to split he and Thor apart, to put space between them and rob him of the thunder god's protection.

And Thor had let it happen. So consumed in his own lust for battle and blood.

He remembers hearing Loki cry out for him, to come to his aid, and not listening, not heeding the plea, too absorbed in crushing skills and shattering limbs with his hammer.

He had turned only in time to see Loki disappear beneath a crush of bodies, and then an explosion of white, blinding energy as he was whisked away from the field of battle, to where, Thor still knew not.

He remembers having searched frantically in the melee and chaos for his brother, and afterwards, after what remained of the Dark Elf forces had been beaten back, through the piles of dead bodies which lay strewn across the blood soaked field.

He hadn't found him.

For three months.

He hadn't found his brother.

And never did.

Loki had found his way back to them, somehow. He had escaped, and oh Gods, Thor still recalls, when he had returned, his little brother had barely clung to life. Starved and ravaged and hardly even coherent. He had stumbled into the city, nearly naked save a crudely fashioned skirt, braided from straw, clearly by Loki's own hand, bare feet shredded and bleeding from having walked Norns knew only how many miles over unforgiving mountain terrains and fields of ice, littered with shards as sharp as steel.

And now, when Thor had seen who led the invasion upon Asgard's gates, when he had seen the split scheme of color which played upon the Elf's cruel face, he had thought "no", and there had been the horrifying fear replaying itself, over and over, in his mind.

What if…

What if he found Loki.

What if he captured him again.

What if, what if, what if…

And he had thought then only to keep his brother from this battle.

He had pushed the possibility from his mind.

And for that, they had all paid the price.

"I will destroy him."

He's pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Loki's voice.

And at once, the younger god is straightening, pushing himself to his feet and standing.

"I will end his very existence." He goes on, and it sounds more as though he is talking to himself than Thor. "I will…"

"Loki," Thor starts, frowning. "I had feared, after what he had done to you…"

"It matters not what he did to me!" Loki snaps, turning finally and pinning the crown Prince with a withering gaze.

Thor hesitates.

"He is more powerful now Loki." He warns cautiously. "Much more."

And Loki sneers with absolute disregard.

"I was more powerful than him then, and I am with certainty more powerful than him now! I will end him!" He repeats, and there is such conviction in his voice, it sends an unwelcome chill down Thor spine.

A moment passes, the two brother's staring back at one another intently, Loki anxious and unstill. Thor contemplating and concerned.

"… If you aid us," he begins at last. "if you help Asgard to defeat this enemy, you will be pardoned. Your imprisonment lifted and your freedom returned to you."

"I have no need of your empty promises and placating enticements Thor. I care not whether you permit me to remain outside these four walls. I ask only you let me out now so that I might take my revenge. Do what you will with me afterward, but allow me this one need. I will kill that half-breed bastard and his army with him, this I swear."

Thor knew it was foolish on his part to hope that Loki might come to their aid for the sake of the Realm.

Loki had grown well beyond caring anymore how the Aesir might regard him, and he knew his brother remained here only by force. He felt no attachment, no kinship any longer with this place or its people.

Still, he had hoped, and it hurt no less to see those hopes dashed.

It was revenge his brother now sought.

No sense of duty.

Whether revenge for himself, or their Mother, or both, it mattered little.

Loki would have it.

Thor gave a nod, stepping forward to undo the barrier which kept his brother trapped and restrained.

"I will escort you to your rooms, where you may prepare." He says, pressing his palm flat against the device, situated to the stone wall bordering the energy. He feels the current of magic, reading his print, identifying him.

With a shimmer, the magical barrier dissolves, and Thor steps forward, holding out a hand for Loki to take.

Loki ignores it, tilting his head down the hall, indicating Thor to lead the way.

Thor's hand falls limp to his side.

Standing this close to his brother now, his wasted form seems only more obvious.

He looks so small, and Thor feels his heart drop as he stares down at the younger god.

How had he ever come to this?

Proud Loki. Strong Loki. Brilliant, shining, excellent boy, filled to brimming with life and energy and passion.

"If you try anything…" Thor begins to warn.

And Loki shakes his head.

"I know already." He says. "Only it is you who fails to comprehend the hollow nature of a threat if fulfilled I would welcome with open arms."

Thor says nothing to that.

Only gazing into the unflinching eyes of his brother, a sense of inconsolable dread working its way through the pit of his stomach, even as he at last turns and leads them from the place.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Loki has disappeared into the wash room of his chambers.

He had strode through his old place of sanctuary without so much as a look around, or a moments hesitation. No frozen moments of remembrance or nostalgia tinged contemplation.

Thor sits, waiting, in one of the many sitting chairs situated about the main wing of what had been his brother's study, looking about with hands clasped loose between his knees.

He seems not so coldly determined as his younger brother, not so able to block the ghosts of the past.

Memories flood unwanted through his mind.

So many times, so many moments he found himself bursting through those double, gold gilded doors, calling out loudly Loki's name, only to find his brother seated in one of these very chairs, book laid open upon his knee, engrossed and seemingly oblivious to the elder god's presence.

And always, he had looked so content. So relaxed and calm and without burden.

Thor recalls those were perhaps the only times, when the tension and worry which seemed always to plague his little brother and follow him as a specter had fled his being, and left him momentarily free.

When he had his books and texts and scholarly pursuits.

Thor feels his clasped hands tighten together near painfully, as he thinks how he had always so recklessly and thoughtlessly disturbed those quieted moments for Loki.

How then he had thought nothing of Loki's upset, laughing at how easily flustered he would grow, slapping him hard across the back and making merry of his reddening face and stiffened posture.

How he simply had shrugged and dismissed it offhand when Loki had gradually begun to storm out of his presence and he would not see the younger Prince again for the remainder of the day.

He had never inquired after where it was Loki would go those times.

Never asked if he was alright…

His eyes flit to the well worn work desk, pressed up against the Eastern most wall, just below an open window, where Thor knows Loki would so often sit and write and solve his magical equations while watching the sun peak its first rays of light over the golden fields of Asgard.

There are books piled high on that desk still, gathering dust, untouched since Loki's fall.

Stacks of journals lie too, filled Thor knows with his brother's notes and musings. There is an entire shelf filled with the journals, along the opposite wall, dozens upon dozens of them, dating as far back as to when Loki was but a child.

Thor remembers he and his friends often laughing at Loki, making jest of what they called a feminine and sentimental practice.

What man of the Aesir need write down his thoughts and feelings, they had asked, chortling and scoffing, but one not possessed of the strength required to control such useless burdens?

A kind of queasiness works its way up Thor's throat as he recalls one time, when he and the Warriors Three and Sif had invaded this very study, finding Loki seated at that old desk, writing in one of the journals.

Loki had moved immediately to close the thing up and turned to face them, agitated scowl already in place along his features, when Fandral had dipped in and snatched the book up, dancing away swiftly out of reach, even as Loki had jumped up and attempted to take the thing back, angered curses slipping from his lips as he chased the young man about the room. Curses which soon turned to panicked pleas to give it back as Fandral had opened it up and begun to read its contents aloud.

Their amusement and laughter hadn't lasted long, as Fandral went on, and the words which spilled from his tongue spoke only of self-deprecation and thoughts of inadequacy, spoke a hopeless desire to be more, to be better, and suffocating loneliness.

Fandral's voice had trailed off, the room having fallen into uneasy silence, before, nervously, he had laughed, looking up, beginning to say it had only been a jest, intending to toss the book back to the younger Prince.

But as all their eyes had turned to him, shamed, they had seen Loki standing stiff and shaking, face twisted in fury as tears slipped ceaseless down his pale cheeks.

He had taken the journal back from Fandral's offered hand and brought it against his chest, holding it protectively before turning, still trembling and telling them in a rough voice thick with tears to leave.

Thor remembers having tried to apologize, trying to reach out and make things alright, and he remembers the moment his fingers had brushed the younger god's shoulder, Loki had flinched violently away and screamed "go", and they all had shuffled out of the rooms without another word or argument.

It had been after that day, Thor thinks, when Loki's already withdrawn behavior had intensified, and he began to see less and less of the brother he had once been so close to.

He remembers asking Loki about what had been written in that journal, weeks later, saying he couldn't possibly have meant any of it, couldn't have believed it, surely, and Loki had simply closed off, refusing to speak a word.

Later, when in his determination to get to the bottom of it, Thor had snuck into his brother's study and tried reading the journal himself, and he had found it warded against prying eyes, the words coming out an unintelligible jumble to anyone other than the writer.

That, Thor thinks, is the day he began to lose Loki's trust.

There's an opened journal lying on the desk now, half of one page filled with his brother's elegant script. Thor realizes with a jolt, in the months after Loki's fall, what they all had thought was Loki's death, he hadn't ever bothered to try again at reading the second Prince's private thoughts.

Thor thinks it was out of fear, a refusal to seek confirmation that the young boy he'd grown up with was gone. Because if Loki truly was dead, then the wards would have been lifted, his magic done away with.

He's broken from his morbid thoughts by the sound of knocking, and he looks up, towards the closed double doors.

"Yes." He calls, and a moment later, those doors come open, revealing one of the several guards stationed outside.

"My Lord Prince," he begins, bowing his head in respect.

Thor nods in returns, and waits.

"The Lady Jane Foster requests that she be allowed to join you while you await the prisoner's preparations."

Thor feels himself bristle slightly at the term assigned his brother. An annoyance he knows he should not feel. Because that's what Loki was, wasn't it? A prisoner. He wouldn't be allowed free reign, or any, real privacy even.

Even now, Thor stayed near, and again, he thought of the many guards, situated outside this room, and the main foyer, ready to take action should the man they once considered their Prince try anything unapproved.

His thoughts shift to Jane.

And he feels hesitation.

She hasn't yet met Loki.

He hadn't even thought it a possibility when he'd first brought her here, those few days ago.

There had been no need, and Thor hadn't been prepared or willing to expose Jane to his brother's caustic and cruel wit.

Nor had he forgotten Loki's threat against her, while they had been fighting on the Bifrost, what seemed a lifetime ago now.

But he knows now that a meeting between the two is inevitable.

Jane is coming with them.

He isn't going to leave her here, in Asgard. Not with her defenses so crippled and the threat of another attack looming.

And so he casts his hesitation aside, and nods to the guard, assenting to her presence.

The guard nods back.

"My Lord." He bows, disappearing.

A few, short seconds later, he reappears, and Jane is trailing close behind him, already looking anxiously over the broad man's shoulder, eyes searching with unmistakable desperation for him.

Thor stands, the first, real smile he's been able to manage all day gracing his lips.

And Jane doesn't even wait for approval, she rushes past the guard, towards him, and he opens his arms to receive her, her tiny frame and seemingly nonexistent weight barely registering as it slams into him.

He wraps thickly muscled arms about her torso, holding her tight as she sags against him, pressing her face into his chest.

He doesn't miss the shutter which works through her, nor the strangled sob which pushes past her lips.

"Oh God, Thor…" she cries. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The smile is fast erased from the thunderer's lips as he bends, leaning his cheek along her crown.

"You have nothing to be sorry for Jane." He whispers, and she shakes her head.

"No… No, I was th-there." She weeps. "I should have done something. I should have…"

"There is nothing you could have done Jane." Thor says. "Nothing. You cannot blame yourself."

And it is true.

What hope had she, a mere mortal, of battling back against a throng of half a dozen Dark Elves, led by Malekith himself, one of the most powerful sorcerers in all the Nine Realms?

None. There had be no hope.

As even their Queen, his Mother, a goddess of great power herself, had fallen before the force.

Thor knows only the dumb luck and fortune of them having spared Jane their attention, passing her by and moving on to other sections of the palace without so much as a glance back.

"What… what are we going to do Thor?" She asks, face still hidden against him, small hands curled and clinging in to the fabric of his cloak. "What are we going to do?"

Thor absently rubs his wide palm down her back, and he is reminded harshly of her frailty.

Of how easily she may be injured… or killed.

So much weaker than the Aesir, are the mortals.

"We must travel to Svartalfheim," he begins softly. "to the dark world."

"The dark world?" Jane at last pulls back, blinking up at him with tear filled eyes, face red and broken with grief.

Thor nods grimly.

"We must lead the battle away from Asgard's gates, or the entire city may fall. We must protect the All-Father. He is helpless in his current rest. Jane, I am sorry you have been pulled into this. It was never my intention."

She shakes her head.

"I know Thor. I… I know." She says, looking away finally, eyes scanning over the room they're in.

"How do we get there?" She asks absently. "The Bifrost?"

Thor shakes his head, mouth opening to answer.

"No."

He is stopped short at the sound of his brother's voice, and both he and Jane turn, surprised as their eyes fall upon the tall, razor thin form of the man standing within the threshold of an entryway opposite.

Loki stands, staring back at them.

He is shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of loose fitting soft leather breeches, his feet bare and a towel in his hands.

His hair has been very clearly washed and now slicked back off his face, behind his ears, still long and well past his shoulders.

Thor can't help his gaze roaming over his brother's state.

He is so thin.

Painfully so.

It had been obvious, given the way he had practically been swimming in his clothes all these past months. But actually seeing the bared condition of his body, Thor feels less than well.

Loki had always been incredibly thin.

But there had always been a subtle power and strength to his long, sinewy frame. Corded muscle had defined his limbs and torso, giving him a kind of weightless grace few others possessed. Only Sif, truly, had ever been able to match Loki in agility and light footed swiftness.

Few had ever given the second Prince acknowledgment for his strength in battle. But Thor knew it well, and, he realizes suddenly, with dismay, he has missed it so.

The reassurance that his more than capable brother would be at his back, always, guarding him against approaching enemies.

Loki seems a shade of his former self now.

Wasted away to practically nothing.

He has little left of that muscle left. And if there had ever been any softness to any part of his brother's form before, it is entirely absent now.

He is all sharp angles and jutting bones.

Thor can count each of his ribs individually, pressing prominent against tightly pulled, sickly colored skin, his stomach no longer simply flat and defined, but now concave and sunken, and his chest thin. The curve of his collarbone stands out grotesquely beneath narrow, bony shoulders. And as Loki finally moves, and turns towards a trunk, situated along the Western wall, he can count nearly every, single vertebrae which makes up the entirety of his spinal column.

He finds he cannot stand it, and he looks away suddenly, eyes casting down, own frame tensing in unspoken anguish.

"You must be Thor's mortal." Loki goes on quietly as he bends, opening up the trunk's top, beginning to rifle through its contents.

Thor sees Jane is staring intently at his brother too, eyes wide and with no small amount of shock. Whether at Loki's emaciated state, or simply seeing the man who had tried to subjugate her Realm, he does not know.

Loki seems to light upon the article he was searching for, giving a small sound of approval before straightening, holding the folded, black tunic in his hands and turning.

Closing the lid of the trunk, he drops the half wet towel upon it and begins towards them, and it is odd, Thor thinks, how he still moves with so much poise and dignity, even while looking so close to death.

"You will forgive the indecent state of my undress, I hope." He is saying.

Thor feels Jane press back against him, frame winding anxiously as Loki comes nearer. She is afraid, and Thor can hardly blame her.

Loki looks like some feral, wild beast, ready to strike and devour his prey.

And yet his manner and words are only perfectly cordial.

"I was not expecting the company of a lady." He goes on, keeping his eyes on her. "Had I known of your arrival, I would have requested my clothing be brought to me, or awaited your departure."

Jane stares, speechless a long moment, before finally she breathes out, an inarticulate "Oh.".

Loki gives no reaction to that, simply pulling the tunic over his head, finally hiding away the unpleasant sight of his wasted body.

Taking several, long seconds to straighten and smooth it out, tucking the long hem of it carefully into the band of his breeches, he then moves across the room, disappearing from the study, into his sleeping chambers.

He reappears a moment later, tying his long hair back into an intricately woven band, forming a straight pony tale which reaches halfway down his back.

"The path to Svartalfheim is treacherous." He continues, as though the conversation had never stopped. "It can be reached only through the hidden ways and by foot over unforgiving and harsh mountain terrain and fields of pure ice, home to many an untamed beast and bands of marauding nomads."

Finishing tying his hair back, he turns, looking to Jane with a gaze so piercing, she finds herself having to look away.

He is nothing like Thor, it seems.

Thor is all good intentions and kindness in open expression.

If there is any kindness in his younger brother, Jane can see none of it in his sharp, cutting eyes.

"You should not be coming with us." He finishes, eyes unmoving on her.

Jane stands stiff and mute, hands still buried in Thor's cloak, and she finds herself unable to look at the imposing form of the mischief god, unable to respond.

Thor makes it so she doesn't have to.

"She is coming with us Loki." He says, voice firm and unwavering and heavy with unsaid threat.

Loki's eyes flash to the Crown Prince, face impassive.

"She is mortal Thor." He replies, with the air of one long suffering the stupidity of others.

It sounds bizarre to Jane's ears, to hear anyone speak to Thor with something less than total respect. To speak to him even with mocking disregard and contempt.

"She could very easily be killed." He goes on, as though explaining to a small child.

Instinctually, Thor pushes Jane half behind him, hand heavy on her shoulder.

"I will not leave her here unguarded Loki." He says in return. "If there were an attack, I would be unable to protect her."

"And you think bringing her into the heart of the battle will better serve that ability?" Loki nearly scoffs, features now worked to incredulousness. "I guarantee you Odinson, the fight will be where we take it. The Dark Elves have no use of some lowly mortal girl on her own, but if they see her as a weapon to be used against you, they will not hesitate to utilize her thus. She will only slow us down and impede our success, and if not taken advantage of to compromise our position, likely then she will merely be killed as collateral. Leave her here. She will be safer."

It is at once, Thor's temper flares, and he pushes Jane fully behind him now, stepping towards his brother threateningly.

Loki doesn't move, standing straight and seemingly utterly unintimidated, even as Thor moves within inches of him, glaring down at him with his superior height, and the difference in size between them in glaringly obvious.

Thor looks as though he could crush the younger god with a single swipe, and yet, Jane feels a sickening dread building in her stomach that the appearance is a falsity. That Loki is so much more dangerous than he outwardly seems.

"What is this concern brother?" Thor asks, suspicion clear in his voice. "You care nothing for anyone but yourself, and yet you waste that silver tongue of yours making supplications on her behalf. You would expect me to believe your concern sincere?"

Loki scowls, matching Thor glare for glare, vivid green eyes every bit as unyielding as the thunder god's blue.

"I expect nothing but ignorance and stupidity from you, Thor." He answers calmly. "I only plead the girl's case in the realization that, when she is killed, and she will be Thor, it will be I who shoulders the blame, as I always have in the wake of your failures."

Thor takes another step forward, cutting the space between them to practically nothing, and still, Loki does not move.

"If you think to threaten her…" he begins, and Loki cuts him off with a short, sharp bark of laughter which sends a chill down Jane's spine.

"I make no promises should she in any way hinder my progre…"

The words never finish, cut abruptly by a loud crack. The sound of the back of Thor's hand, raking across Loki's mouth, the force of it hard enough to knock the smaller god clean off his feet, dumping him on his bottom.

Jane gasps in shock, hands flying to her mouth, even as Loki's own lift and cover his.

She sees bright red blood, slipping slow and thick between long, pale fingers.

Thor stands over him, hands clenched to fists at his side, breathing heavily in anger.

After a moment, Loki pulls his hands away, staring down at the smear of his own blood across his palms, a kind of curiousness lighting his gaze at the sight before he looks up at Thor, eyes glittering as a twisted smile warps his thin lips, and he begins to laugh.

"Oh, you are predictable, brother." He snorts, even as he puts his hands flat to the ground and with obvious effort, begins to push himself to his feet.

Thor steps back, towards Jane, grabbing her too roughly by the arm and tugging her to his side.

"Threaten her again, and I will kill you." He spits.

Loki is straightening out his clothes again, dusting himself off in seemingly oblivious apathy to the seriousness of Thor's voice.

"What need have I to threaten her," he begins, as casually as if he were having a conversation about the weather. "when you all but ensure her demise through your own, stubborn blindness?"

He looks back at Thor with disdainful eyes, viciously bright and intelligent.

And Jane feels suddenly terrified at his words. At the sickening sensation that in them lies only truth.

Thor stares back, barely suppressing his own rage, silent, before abruptly he moves, dragging Jane with him.

"Come," he says to her, ignoring Loki as they move past him. "We will go to my own rooms and begin to prepare. We leave tonight."

Jane says nothing, allowing Thor to move her away, towards the foyer.

As they reach the doors, she dares to steal one last glance back, and she sees Loki there, standing with his back to them. He is still, head bowed slightly, arms hung limp at his sides.

And she doesn't know why, looking at him, she's overcome with a sudden sadness.

She doesn't know why, and she pushes the feeling down, turning back, leaving him behind as she lets Thor take her away.

/


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

“Does he have to come with us?”

Thor glances back over his shoulder at her, pulling the buckle of his chest plate tight and securing it through the loop, a frown playing over his features.

Jane is sitting along the edge of his bed, her tiny hands smoothing down the silken surface of the comforter over and over in a nervous gesture. She isn’t looking back at him, her eyes trained down.

When she receives no immediate answer, she at last glances up, and Thor can see the anxious worry etching her features.

“Your… your brother, I mean.”

He turns fully towards her, regarding her closely.

“You fear him?” He asks bluntly, trying to keep his tone soft.

Absently, she nods.

“Kind of. I mean…” she pauses, glancing away again, repeating the motion of her hands over the bed. “With everything he did on Earth and… just… the things he was saying and everything …” she finishes in a mutter.

Thor’s frown deepens, and he steps towards her until he’s standing just inches away. Crouching down, he reaches out and takes gentle hold of her wrists, pulling her hands forward in his own.

“Jane,” he begins, looking up into her face, and she looks back, unsure. He tries for a smile, weak though it is. “I swear to you, I will let no harm befall you, either from Loki or any other. You have my word.”

She smiles back, the effort just as pale, and nods.

“I know.” She answers quietly.

And God, Thor is so handsome, she thinks. So unnaturally handsome, just like all of the people here. Impossibly beautiful and perfect.

Like gods.

She feels suddenly, overwhelmingly inadequate. Like she doesn’t belong here. Like she can’t possibly ever belong among these beings.

“… This is all,” she shrugs halfheartedly. “Just, so much… so soon.” She looks away. “I mean, I haven’t even ever been anywhere in my own world except America and some parts of Europe. And now I’m in an entire other galaxy, who knows how many light years away, and about to travel to another one, no less alien, and I just…”

She stops, shaking her head, not knowing what else to say.

Thor stares at her, silent a long moment, features drawn in concern.

Until finally, he stands, and steps back.

“I would not have asked Loki to join us had there been any other way.” He begins to explain, and Jane looks back to him. “But with Father in the Odinsleep, Loki is the only sorcerer left on Asgard with the power to bring us to their Realm. And for reasons beyond that, even, we require Loki’s assistance in this battle. The Dark Elves are powerful sorcerer’s themselves, and none know magic better than my brother.”

Here, he pauses, looking away.

Jane doesn’t miss the way his large hands clench to fists at his side. The taught anxiousness of his frame.

“And,” he starts again. “for one reason other… Loki alone knows the way through their world. Knows the paths and terrain to their cities.” He glances back at her, and at once there is such profound pain and fury in his gaze, she nearly herself has to look away. “He is the only one among us to have ever ventured there and back. Without him, we should find ourselves hopelessly lost.”

There is more there, Jane realizes, watching the thunder god. More to this tale he isn’t telling. Some kind of deep seeded hurt of the past.

She knows better than to push though, and simply nods, watching in silence the remainder of the time as Thor finishes preparing for the journey ahead.

//

 

They meet Loki, and a half dozen guards by his rooms, where the crown Prince resumes custodianship of his brother, grasping to his arm tightly and commanding him to lead them to the site most suited for the “jump”, as Thor calls it.

Loki has nothing more on his person than his intricately woven and embroidered green and black armor, along with a small satchel attached to his hip. Thor carries a considerably larger sack, swung over his shoulder, and Jane has her own pack, smaller than Thor’s, larger than Loki’s, which she carries on her back.

Loki leads them silently, a pace ahead of Thor, his arm still held, the guards following closely behind.

Jane leans in towards the thunder god and whispers…

“Are they coming with us?” She gestures back towards the men at their backs, and Thor shakes his head absently.

“No.” He answers. “They follow only as a precaution. It will only be you and I and Loki when we arrive. Once we’ve reached the heart of their world, Loki will open a path for others to come through. It is the best way to disguise our force from them and spring an ambush upon their armies.”

“Oh.” Jane blinks, her eyes glancing at the trickster god.

He is walking stiffly and straight, head held high, an unmistakable air of superiority and pride radiating off of him in waves.

The armor adds considerably to his size, making him appear much larger and stronger than otherwise, taller even, and Jane can’t help but notice how well put together he seems. He is clean, his long hair tied back in a swinging ponytail and incredibly soft looking, so black as to appear almost blue, contrasting sharply with the snow paleness of his skin. His posture is impossibly straight, his steps graceful and light despite the restraint of Thor’s hand on his arm.

He is regal, Jane thinks, and then quickly frowns at the impression.

He’s also a psychopath, she reminds herself. Completely insane, and she would do best to keep her distance.

As though hearing her thoughts, he suddenly turns his head, looking back at her intently, and immediately, she turns away, feeling her face flush for some unknown reason, her nerves tingling uncomfortably. 

She can see him watching her from the corner of her eye, and she feels sick with fear a moment, before she sees him turn away again, looking straight ahead and silent.

There is something unnaturally aware in Loki’s gaze, she thinks. His eyes too sharp, too seeing.

It makes her feel naked before him, as though he can see into her very soul, and any secretes she might have hoped to keep are laid bare in the bright light of day for him to scrutinize and judge and take advantage of. 

To use against her.

It’s eerie, the way he looks at you and just seems to know.

“It is my strategy.” He says suddenly, pulling her hard from her thoughts.

She sees Thor stiffen beside her, and a sly smile spread over Loki’s lips.

“Thor would have had me pull all our warriors through the portal and march loudly and brashly across the plains of Svartalfheim, announcing our arrival and numbers well in advance and allowing for the enemy to adequately prepare in greeting.”

He looks over at Jane again, smirking.

“That, of course, would have been the brave and noble course. But, alas, two traits I have always found myself short in, preferring more underhanded and cowardly tricks to outright battle and courage. I still am not certain how it was I convinced him to let me have my way.”

Thor jerks back on Loki’s arm, harshly, causing the younger god to stumble back and nearly lose his balance.

“Do not speak to her.” He spits angrily. “You have caused enough unrest already.”

Jane swallows nervously, watching Loki struggle to straighten himself, a brief flash of anger running across his fine features before being replaced by a mask of indifference.

“Far be it from me to thieve praise from the mighty thunderer of Asgard.” He mutters disgustedly. “Most especially in matters of war and before a delicate lady who’s admiration he has hard won.”

“Loki!” Thor’s grip on his arm tightens, painfully, but the trickster god gives no indication of feeling a thing at all, simply resuming their march forward, suddenly silent.

Jane watches with growing unease, falling behind Thor a few steps, her apprehension suddenly seeming to increase several fold.

They haven’t come anywhere near where they’re going yet, and already, the tension between Thor and his brother is palpable, and the air is thick with the sense that at any moment, things may fall completely apart.

Jane wonders if it was always like this between the two. This anger and aggression and dislike… she might even call it hatred. Barely checked rage.

She thinks that can’t be. That they must have gotten along better at some point. If Thor is as old as he’s indicated, and Loki the same, there’s no way they could have lived together for that long if things had always been this way.

And Thor’s said things, spoken of Loki in front of her in an almost cautiously fond way, always with a sense of deep sadness. She thinks he must have loved his brother at some point. Perhaps even still does, though the mistrust he has for Loki is clear. And Loki himself seems completely detached and cold towards Thor. Constantly insulting and drawing him in to verbal sparring matches and tearing him to shreds with words.

Jane finds herself wondering at who Loki is. What he must have been like, before. If he was any different at all, or if Thor was just letting his love for his brother blind him to the monster he always had been.

Thor says Loki is infinitely clever.

“The most clever of the gods.” He had said.

And he’s spoken of Loki having the greatest wit and sense of humor of any man he has ever known. Of how Loki had used to make him laugh like no other could. How he had used to be playfully mischievous and even kind hearted. Sensitive and almost painfully aware of the world and others.

Jane can see none of that in the trickster god now. 

He seems so… hard to her.

So mean.

So not like Thor, who is possibly the most open, good hearted and true man she’s ever met.

God… man…

She still isn’t sure how to think of him. How to think of any of them.

It seems to take forever to reach where it is they’re going, and by the time they do, Jane realizes with confusion, seemingly matched by Thor, that they’ve ended up on the Rainbow Bridge again, near the observatory, where Heimdall, the gatekeeper stands, watching their approach with apathetic, emotionless eyes.

Heimdall is massive. The largest of any of them that she’s thus far seen, and Jane hadn’t been able to help herself clinging almost desperately to Thor when first she’d arrived and been greeted by the sight of the motionless god. 

Thor had laughed and held her hand gently within his own, telling her she had nothing to fear, that Heimdall would not harm her.

The gatekeeper had simply bowed his head in acknowledgement to her before greeting Thor home, and that had been all she heard of his deep and booming voice.

Loki isn’t slowing down as he approaches the larger god, and Jane feels a sense of disquiet as they draw closer.

Heimdall seems even bigger to her than before. Both Thor and Loki are tall, but Heimdall simply towers over them, and over Loki especially, the added mass of his armor doing nothing against the sheer size and width of the gatekeeper. Loki almost looks like a child before him. But if the difference between them has any affect at all on the trickster, it doesn’t show. He stops just feet before Heimdall, staring up at him, a smug smirk spread across his lips, eyes sharp and glinting.

“Good Heimdall.” He greets, and the mockery in his voice is apparent.

Thor’s hand on his arm tightens, and he leans in, whispering harshly against Loki’s ear…

“What are we doing here brother?”

But Loki ignores him, and the growing unrest at his back, holding the gatekeeper’s gaze with unflinching scrutiny.

Heimdall glares down at him, his normally impassive expression lined, if only vaguely, with clear disgust.

It is more than apparent the larger god’s thoughts on the second Prince.

“Loki.” He says back.

Loki’s brows rise along his forehead, eyes slightly widened.

He presses a hand against his chest, wide palm flat and long fingers splaying.

“No formal greeting for your Prince?” He asks, voice thick with flippancy.

Hemidall actually sneers.

“You are a traitor and a coward, Loki. You no longer hold the title of Prince.”

Loki’s smile widens.

“Oh, and here I had been led to think elsewise. Certainly it is Thor’s and the Queen’s decree that I still hold my title. Or does Frigga’s death render her declaration null and void?!”

Loki steps forward, closing the distance between he and the gatekeeper to inches, and Thor grits his teeth, stepping with him, ready to pull him back.

Heimdall says nothing, and Loki stares up at him with clear write hatred across his features.

“Will you blame me, good Heimdall, for the passage of the Dark Elves into this Realm?” He asks, voice deep and angry, and Jane feels herself tense further. “And what of this title traitor? Was it not you who made so blatant an attempt on my life while I sat upon the throne of this world you’ve sworn to protect? A position held also at the Queen’s decree? Was it not you who disobeyed the word of your then King when you sent a treasonous band of disloyal miscreants to undo All-Father Odin’s final act before falling to his sleep?”

Another step, and Loki is nearly pressed, body against body, to Hemidall.

“No, gatekeeper,” he whispers, harsh and low. “No. It is you who are traitor to Asgard. As it is you who allowed Malekith and his forces past your watch. Who allowed him entry to murder our Queen!” Loki’s voice rises in a growl, and Heimdall’s face contorts in rage, lifting his sword back, over and behind his head, ready to bring it down upon the younger god.

Thor intervenes then, jerking Loki back and stepping in the path of Heimdalls’s swing, reaching out and seizing the gatekeepers arm, stilling his blade.

“Heimdall!” He shouts. “Stay your blade! Have you gone mad?!”

“The Sly one spills poisonous lies!” Heimdall spits, eyes locked and fuming on the second Prince.

Loki stares back, his own eyes cutting in their hatred, mouth set in a thin, angry line.

“Even if that is so!” Thor interjects, clearly furious. “Loki IS your Prince. He still holds the title and to purposefully lay harm to him would be treason. Stay your blade!”

Heimdall stands a moment, sword still raised, eyes still locked on Loki, breath coming hard and fast, until finally, slowly, his arms sink, and he straightens, his gaze moving to Thor.

“My apologies, Prince Thor.” He at last says, calmed. “I should not have allowed your brother to incite me to such violence.”

“You incite yourself Heimdall,” Loki snaps from behind. “your anger ignited at the truth of my words. Fear of the truth, it is easier to proclaim the speaker of it a silver tongued liar.”

Heimdall’s eyes shift back to him, body tensing, and it is only Thor’s hand on his shoulder which still him, and forces him to again back down.

A moment passes in intense silence then, until finally, Thor steps away, turning back to face Loki, grabbing him roughly by the collar of his surcoat, shaking him hard and demanding…

“Loki, why have you brought us here!? Only to cause unrest and tempt others towards punishable behavior?”

Loki sneers, and the smiles cruelly up at the thunderer.

“I wished for Heimdall to observer the ineffectiveness of his post.” He answers smoothly. “To observe the advantage one skilled in the art he so easily and readily dismisses as beneath him has. To see how truly powerless he is against this weak coward.”

Thor’s face twists in a scowl, and unthinkingly, he fists his fingers in Loki’s hair, jerking his head painfully to the side. Loki does nothing, makes no sound, expression unmoving.

Jane brings her fist to her mouth, biting hard against her knuckles.

Oh God…

“Enough!” Thor hisses. “Enough of this pettiness!” He jerks Loki’s head one last time before shoving him back, pointing a finger into his face. “You take us to the site needed Loki! You will not waste any more of our time!”

Loki brings his pale, long hands to his hair, smoothing is back, deliberately slow, seeming a moment not to pay attention to his elder brother, before finally, a smile slides over his features, and he looks up at him, green eyes unnaturally bright, the beckoning of his magic to the surface.

Thor stiffens instinctively at the sight, cautious.

“This place will do as well as any.” Loki says, and Thor’s eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“Aye?” He asks.

Loki rolls his eyes.

“There is no particular spot more suited to the task of skywalking than others. You either can or you cannot open the door to the spaces between.”

Shrugging dismissively at Thor’s incredulous stare, the trickster god turns, eyes catching Jane, who automatically goes rigid and unconsciously takes a step back. Loki smiles.

“My magic is yet to regain its full strength. Still struggling against the dampening affects of Odin’s own.” He goes on, casually. “The walk will be unpleasant for the instability. A warning to you and your fair maiden, Thor.”

He turns, looking back to the thunderer, smile still in place.

Thor glares angrily at him, silent a moment, before finally huffing.

“Be on with it then!” He snaps, gesturing impatiently towards the second Prince.

Loki’s smile widens.

“Do not forget your sack Thor.” He reminds. “Now give me your hands, both of you.”

Thor grumbles wearily, bending and scooping up his dropped bag, hefting it again onto his shoulder before reaching out and grasping hold of Loki’s outstretched hand. 

He stares, for a moment, at their interlocked fingers. Loki’s are thin, but even longer than his own, palm just as wide.

It strikes him as odd, the larger hands of his frail, small younger brother.

Jane stands, still, hands balled nervously at her sides, gazing with uncertainty at the Loki’s offered hand.

“Well then?” He asks, eyebrow raised.

Jane looks up at him, and then Thor, pleading for some sort of guidance.

Thor nods at her.

“It is well Jane. He will not harm you.” He assures.

She hesitates a moment more, clearly concerned, and Loki waits, unmoving, watching her intently, until, at last, she reaches out, her tiny hand disappearing within his, and she nearly starts at the coolness of his skin.

It’s actually cold, like ice, or chilled marble. Yet somehow, not painful to the touch.

She finds herself lost in thought over it before the mischief god’s refined voice breaks her out of it, his fingers clasping firmly around her own.

Jane swallows, frightened a moment he may crush her hand. She can feel the power in his own, even as she realizes he isn’t hurting her, and only mild relief floods her insides.

“Do not let go of me.” He says, turning to look both at her and Thor. “Should I lose you on the paths, you will be ripped from it and pulled into the nothingness of the void.” 

There is a seriousness to his eyes which momentarily freezes Jane’s heart. A haunted shadow behind which shoots a spike of nauseating fear through her insides and makes her dizzy. 

Thor has told her how Loki fell from the edge of the Bifrost. How he fell into the void…

A faint frown plays at his lips, a deep line furrowed between his brows as he looks back at her.

“You will be lost.” He says. “Should the void take you.”

And that is all the warning he gives.

Within an instant, there is a flash of blinding, white light, and a sickening pull against her very form, the feeling that her insides are being ripped clean out. 

A scream tries to work its way to her lips and release, but the sound dies in her throat, and there is nothing. Only the crushing pressure of a force beyond her understanding, and the deafening cacophony of impossibly fast movement through time and space. 

Through it, her only comfort is the feel of that cold, strong hand, wrapped unyielding around her own. And she grips back with terrified desperation, praying to whoever might hear her that this not be the end. Oh God, she doesn’t want to die in space. She doesn’t want to…

And as suddenly as it began, it is over.

With extreme abruptness, there is hardened ground underneath her feet, and she feels the strength of that grip around her hand release.

Her eyes snap open, and blink furiously against the muted midday sun and grey skies of the barren and frozen landscape spread out before them.

“Ah!” She hears Loki say, somewhere beside her. “Here we are! Svartalfheim. The Dark World.”

And then Jane’s knees go weak, and she stumbles forward as the wave of nausea crushes down across her. She throws up. The contents of her earlier meal splashing across the frost tipped blades of grass beneath her feet.

Somewhere out of her line of sight, she thinks she hears Thor, being sick the same.

Loki watches them, smiling wide.

“I did give fair warning the walk would be unpleasant, did I not?” He asks.

And then he laughs. Loud and long and filled with sincere, true mirth.

//

AN: Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers for the last chapter! I appreciate ALL of you more than you know. I’m sorry I haven’t been getting back to all of you. My schedule has been kind of hectic lately, but I would love to hear from you again and know your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

By the time they begin to set up camp, the sun has set, and Jane feels like she might die from exhaustion.

She isn't used to this.

She's always prided herself on being in fairly good physical condition. She works out regularly. Takes at least 30 minutes a day on the treadmill, five days a week.

But this…

After being ill, not five minutes after she and Thor had completely humiliated themselves hurling their insides out, Thor and his brother had gotten into yet another, vicious argument, which Jane had been sure this time would escalate into blows, with her trapped in the middle.

Whatever her curiosity, she has no desire to see two gods battle it out.

Thor had pulled some sort of thin fetter from his belt, one which caught the low light and seemed to actually glow within it.

The moment Loki had seen it hanging loose from the thunderer's thick fingers, his face had hardened, and such absolute rage had flit across his eyes, Jane had unconsciously stepped back and away from him.

The fetter, Thor had announced with no small hint of trepidation as he locked his gaze on his brother, was for the trickster god's wrists, to bind his magic, and Loki had erupted into unchecked protests, screaming at the Crown Prince so intensely, his voice had broken and pitched what seemed several octaves higher.

"You would leave me powerless?!" He'd asked incredulously. "As we traverse across these lands where it is only with certainty we will be attacked before reaching our destination? You would rob me of my seidr once more, when we come to face others of my ilk?!"

Thor had gone on to explain that he couldn't trust Loki, that he couldn't trust him not to turn on them and leave he and Jane abandoned in this world. He had pulled rank, and ordered Loki to obey, or their bargain would be rendered void. He had promised to remove the fetter if and when they found themselves in battle, and a roar of anger had escaped past Loki's lips, before he'd turned away, gesticulating wildly as he muttered to himself that there would be no time in the heat of battle to remove the binds.

Jane hadn't spoken a word, paralyzed to the spot, watching it all unfold.

And when finally, seeing he had no choice, and Loki had submitted himself to Thor, letting his wrists be bound together, Jane had felt the sudden urge to protest against it. The thought that Loki was their only, real defense. The only magic user among their party. The only one who would understand and know how to fight against these elves…

But she hadn't said anything, too afraid, too uncertain.

Afterwards, Loki had fallen eerily silent, leading them on their trek, several paces ahead, his balance compromised for how his hands were bound before him.

Thor had walked with his arm around her, holding her close and protective.

Several hours later, Loki's pace hadn't once slowed, and Jane found herself wondering at the impossibility of his endurance.

After seeing his emaciated, painfully thin body earlier in his rooms, she hadn't thought what ever strength he had would hold out through anything overly, physically vigorous.

But God, had she been wrong.

Thor's own endurance held out the same, but that wasn't any sort of surprise. Thor looked like he could lift a mountain, he was so unbelievably muscular and thick.

But eventually, Jane had felt herself growing faint, her breath wheezing through her lungs in strained huffs, her feet stumbling in weakness beneath her.

She had begged Thor for them to stop, and she had felt her face burn with humiliation when Loki had turned and glared at her accusingly, and then at Thor, his expression clearly conveying the apparently universal 'I told you so!'.

But Thor, blessed Thor, had insisted they stop for the day and make camp, and Loki had only muttered indignantly to himself that at this rate, by the time they reached the city, Malekith will have already mounted his forces fully and been well on his way to sacking what remained of their precious Asgard.

But he had allowed it then without further complaint, and now, the three of them sit awkwardly in silence around a small fire.

It is freezing here at night, and Jane is grateful for the warmth. Even more grateful for Thor's arm around her, holding her close, and the heat of his body. Loki sits across from them.

Alone.

Thor had somehow managed to fit an entire tent into that canvas bag of his, and had promptly went about setting it up, the small structure erected now beside them.

Loki had built the fire, and Jane had found herself watching him in almost mesmerized fascination.

He had gone about, gathering kindle, disappearing for several minutes into the surrounding trees, emerging with his arms filled with strips of wood, all, somehow, almost equally measured.

And with the deftness of experience, he had built the pit and stacked the wood, setting it alight with two stones like it was nothing, coaxing the tiny flame until it had grown into a well established fire.

Jane had realized, watching him, and at his earlier show of endurance and seemingly tireless will to move forward, he was used to this.

She knew from what myths she had read that adventures and quests were a regular thing amongst the gods. Most especially between Thor and Loki. But still, it took her by surprise.

They were, after all, royalty. She'd never had the impression that people in such positions of power and privilege would ever be accustomed to these sorts of hardships, or understand so well how to survive on so little.

Jane has never considered herself privileged, having had to work tooth and nail for everything she's ever accomplished, but she knows she wouldn't last two hours out here on her own.

Watching Loki, she realizes, he could last months out here without a single other soul to aid him.

And somehow, all at once, that both reassures and scares the hell out of her.

Somewhere in the interim he had set up a snare and caught a rabbit, skinned it within seconds, and set up on a pike over the flames, which Jane had watched with a feeling of queasy dismay, and which Thor had simply accepted and partaken in without word, as though he'd expected Loki to catch them their dinner and no thanks was required.

That had rubbed Jane the wrong way. But Loki hadn't reacted at all to Thor's lack of verbal gratitude, or to his tearing one of the poor creature's legs from its body and sinking his teeth into it, and so she had kept quiet about her feelings.

There seemed to be some sort of established dynamic between the two brothers, she was beginning to realize. Loki was their guide, but Thor was unmistakably in charge, and it didn't escape her notice that Thor often spoke to and handled the younger Prince with something akin to dominance. He was rough with the mischief god, and at times what some might call unkind. She had thought perhaps it was due to what Loki had done, what he had become, but Loki's reactions to the treatment, or rather, lack thereof, the sort of quiet, resigned way he took it, it spoke of someone who had long since grown accustomed to such regard. Like it was what he expected, and that had left a distinctly unpleasant feel in the pit of Jane's stomach.

But, she reminded herself grimly, Loki really deserved nothing better. Did he? He was a mass murderer, a would be fascist dictator, an invader, and totally, utterly insane. He didn't deserve to be handled with kid gloves. He'd denied himself the privilege of common courtesy when he'd tried to take over her planet.

So she kept her mouth shut.

Eventually, after sitting still as a statue for long minutes, Loki had reached out and ripped his own leg from the rabbit, Jane watching with an expression of ill-hidden disgust across her features, expecting him to sink his teeth into the meat the way Thor had done not long before.

And so she had blinked in confusion, and stared startled and wide eyed as he'd held the leg of meat out to her, watching her face intently.

Her eyes had flicked up to his, swallowing against the way his already terribly sharp features were thrown into such stark relief in the glow of firelight and darkness around them. He looked like some kind of ghost, pale and ethereal and harsh.

She had swallowed, frozen, and he had leaned closer, holding the offered food nearer, nodding his head.

Again, her gaze had dropped to it, feeling her stomach protest at the sight.

"I… I don't really…" she had begun to stammer. She was starving, having not eaten since earlier that morning, before the attack, the remnants of which she had expunged from her system hours before. But the sight of the meat in Loki's hand, the memory of him skinning the poor creature of it's fur and laying it onto a sharp stick… it all added up to conjure her apprehension and disgust. "I don't think I can eat that." She had finally managed.

And when she'd dared to look up at the trickster god, his face had been one of, at first, blank confusion, and then incredulous annoyance as he'd leaned back and dropped the leg onto the rocks surrounding the fire pit.

"Fine then." He'd spit, not bothering to cover the anger in his voice. "Starve for all I care."

And then he had fallen silent again, sat unmoving across from her and Thor, eyes fixed away, and Thor had reached out and taken up the dropped leg of meat, handed it to Jane, whispering quietly to her that she had to eat, or she wouldn't last.

And finally, Jane had accepted, and once she'd begun eating, it had been remarkably quick she'd finished the meat off.

Only later, when most of the rabbit was gone, did she realize, Loki hadn't eaten anything at all.

And now Thor is dousing the fire, plunging the world around them into greater darkness and taking her gently by the arm, helping her to her feet, speaking quietly against her ear that they should get some rest.

Loki has yet to move from his spot on the ground.

"Brother," Thor begins, voice unusually quiet. "will you not come to bed?"

Loki isn't looking at them still, eyes fixed away, at some distant point across the open space around them.

Several seconds pass before he answers.

"Perhaps later." He replies at last, voice near soundless.

And Thor simply nods, guiding Jane then towards the tent to retire until morning.

She glances back at Loki one last time before moving through the tent's flap, and sees him, knees drawn up, elbows hooked loose round them, still staring off into the distance.

/

Jane starts awake, she doesn't know how many minutes or hours later. For a moment, she is disoriented, and fears grips her as her mind races to catch up to memory, trying to determine where she is.

She feels the warmth of a body at her back, pressed securely against her, the rise and fall of deep, steady breaths, and she remembers…

Thor.

The rest falls quickly into place, and she feels the beat of her heart slow, the burgeoning panic dying in her breast.

She blinks, eyes taking a long moment to adjust to the dark, and she realizes, as her gaze lands on the barely visible crack of the tents flap, and sees nothing but black beyond it, that it must still be night.

And then she recalls him.

Loki.

And in a surge of unease, she sits up, eyes moving about the small enclosure, searching for his resting form, finding nothing but empty space.

Irrational fear takes her.

Thoughts of abandonment, of being trapped on this hostile, alien world. Thor's words from earlier, unable to trust Loki not to turn on them and leave them alone here.

What if he had? What if he'd left them, and they now had no way of escape?!

Thor had told her only Loki was capable of bringing them to and from this world. That the Bifrost had no anchor point here. Could not reach them. That Heimdall could not see them.

Without thought, Jane struggles to her feet, fear threatening to turn again to consuming panic, and she stumbles thoughtless towards the opening.

She has no idea what she's doing. Doesn't know what she'll do, if she finds Loki gone, and her and Thor left on their own.

Doesn't know…

Breathlessly, she grabs at the flaps edge and pulls it back, lurching forward to the outside.

Immediately, her bare arms and the skin of her face are assaulted by the freezing chill of the wind whipped air, and she stops, paralyzed a moment, eyes running over the darkened landscape ahead, tinted blue against the too close stars and three moons above.

And then she sees him.

And both shocking relief and sudden unease take her at the sight.

He is sitting in the same place as when she and Thor retreated back to the tent, staring out towards the tree line, unmoving, but it is darker now outside, and she can tell by it that it has been at least a few hours since.

She watches him a few, long seconds, debating viciously within her mind as to whether she should say anything, or simply go back and lay down beside Thor, try to fall back asleep.

Her debating comes to an abrupt halt when his voice suddenly sounds, making her flinch violently in shock.

"Rest alludes you this night, fair Lady Jane." He says, so softly she just barely makes out the words.

It isn't a question.

She swallows thickly, trying to regain herself, her nerves suddenly prickling with discomfort.

"… How'd you know I was there?" She asks shakily, hating herself for how afraid she knows she must sound.

She can practically hear Loki smirk.

"You will find, Ms. Foster," he says. "that there are very few individuals in the Nine who possess the required stealth to sneak up behind and catch me unawares."

And then he turns, and his eyes are very nearly glowing in the dark of the night, and Jane feels herself tense with further anxiety.

It's just another reminder that these men she's with aren't men at all.

That they're something else entirely, and that thought causes greater unrest in her than she would like to admit.

He gestures elegantly as he can with his hands bound towards the log she and Thor had earlier been using as a seat.

"Please," he says, tone perfect politeness. "will you join me?"

Jane hesitates, scrambling for a reason to refuse.

She doesn't want to be alone with Loki. She knows Thor is just right inside, and if his brother should try anything, all she has to do is call out. But still…

"It's kind of cold…" she tries lamely, and Loki smiles at her. And expression which tells her he knows just exactly how full of shit she really is.

"You needn't be gentle with my feelings, Ms. Foster." He says. "I've endured far greater insult than the refusal of my company. You do not trust me, as well you should not. But please, I should like to have words with you. If you will do me the honor of your conversation, you will have won my gratitude for at least the passing of a day."

He doesn't even try to hide the sarcastic tone of his voice, or the absurdity of his promised appreciation. And yet, somehow, Jane finds herself more desiring to grant his request and sit with him, to talk. She has no idea why.

There is charm in his delivery, she thinks. Improbable, impossible charm.

He is a master of getting what he wants through speech alone.

And without even realizing it, Jane at once finds herself stepping fully from the relative safety of the tent and lowering herself onto the log across from him. Seemingly of their own volition, her arms come up, wrapping around herself in some vain attempt to protect from the cold.

"Here…" Loki says, reaching up and undoing the clasp positioned just below his collarbone, releasing the cloak which lies across his shoulders. It slips from him, and he gathers it up, handing it out to her. "Put this around your shoulders. It will keep you warm."

Reluctantly, Jane reaches out, her thin fingers burying in the soft material, marveling at the fineness of the fabric, and the deep shade of its color.

She stares at it a long moment, before glancing up to the trickster god, who nods in her direction.

"Go on." He says.

She really is cold out here. More than just uncomfortably so. The wind bites, stabbing into her exposed skin like tiny needles.

Taking a deep breath, she at last consents, turning the cloak in a whirl, and letting it fall over her back and shoulders, doing up the clasp. The thing is made for a frame much larger and taller than her own, and it drapes across her arms, encompassing her almost fully.

And, as the seconds pass, she realizes with a start that she can actually feel heat radiating from the cloak, soaking into her chilled skin. Her shock must show on her face, because Loki is grinning at her.

"The cloak is enchanted to keep its wearer warm always and no matter the environment." He explains, sounding, she thinks, almost proud. "There is none other like it in all of Asgard."

Absently, Jane pokes her fingers from underneath the material, running them along the exterior of it, again admiring the plush softness and wondering at the possibilities of something so thin and light being able to exude this kind of heat and keep the outside coldness so well at bay.

"Thank you." She murmurs softly, and Loki simply inclines his head.

They fall into silence for some minutes then, Jane feeling awkward and uncertain.

She keeps stealing glances at the mischief god, but he isn't looking back at her, his eyes once more fixed on the tree line in the distance.

She wonders what it is he's seeing, if he's seeing anything at all.

Her eyes flit to where she thinks he must be looking, and all she can make out is the vague outline of the trees, and darkness.

Shifting her eyes away again, she swallows, pulling the cloak tighter around herself, though she feels no cold now except against her cheeks.

Loki had said he wanted to talk to her, but he hasn't said a single word in several minutes, and she's beginning to wonder if he will at all.

There is an intensity to Thor's little brother which leaves her feeling anxious.

Thor carries no lack of intense presence himself, but it is wholly different from the vibe she feels off of the younger Prince.

Thor is powerful, and charismatic. The sort, she knows, who steals the attention of all upon entering a room.

But Loki causes in her a kind of trepidation. The sort one might feel in the presence of some predatory animal. The way your hair stands on end when you just instinctively know danger is near.

And again, there are his eyes.

In Jane's field, she's had the honor and privilege of working with many an intellectually gifted individual.

But never has she encountered eyes the likes of Loki's.

There is frightening, vicious intelligence there. So sharp, and so clear, she has found it impossible to hold his gaze for more than a few, fleeting moments before she's forced to look away, unsettled.

His perception feels exposing. She can see in the depths of his regard an ability to glean truth from whomever he's turned his attentions on. Ironic, she thinks, for one dubbed Liesmith.

He isn't the sort you want to engage, she's sure. Not if you have something you wish to keep hidden and secret. And everybody has things they don't want known.

She figures that's where the mistrust must come from then, among the other Aesir.

That too obvious intelligence along with Loki's apparent panache for mischief.

And something about that strikes the physicist as unfair.

To be condemned for being too smart?

That has always been one of the great tragedies of human nature, she's thought. To spurn those whose minds worked differently from the general.

She's dealt with her own, fair share of strange looks and dismissive rudeness to know of it firsthand.

Apparently, it is a condition not simply limited to mankind.

"We are being watched."

Her thoughts are disrupted by the sudden sound of his voice, and her eyes snap to him.

"What?" She asks, alarmed.

And she sees Loki nod in the direction of the tree line he's been staring towards all night.

"There, in the trees." He offers. "A lookout party of six. They've been trailing us since our arrival."

"What?!" Jane exclaims, eyes going wide, head snapping in the direction of the woods. "They've been…"

Her eyes search desperately for any signs of movement, any outlines. But she sees nothing.

"How can you see them in this dark?" She asks, confused. And she hears Loki chuckles softly.

"Have you not heard, Ms. Foster?" He asks, sliding his gaze towards her. "The Aesir will have markedly superior eyesight to any mortal, of course. Ah, but I am not Aesir. I am Jotun. A Frost Giant."

He doesn't even attempt to hide the disgust from his voice at the words which fall from his lips.

"A fact I only just recently had brought to my attention." He goes on, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I did so often wonder and pride myself in the one, physical superiority I had over Thor and all his companions. I should have guessed something amiss at the absolute impossibility of it. But, alas, childish hope and the like. You see, Ms. Foster, the Jotnar hail from a realm far darker than the one we now find ourselves."

He leans forward slightly, almost conspiratorially, as though getting ready to share some great secret with her.

"In Jotunheim, there is perpetual night three seasons out of the year, and what little sun there is, is provided by a white dwarf star, hardly able to penetrate the thick cover of the realms atmosphere. Keen sight is a trait essential for survival in such a harsh, cold world."

For a moment, Jane isn't sure what to say, staring back at him, her unease suddenly growing. He's staring back at her, with no indication of looking away, and finally her eyes slide back to the tree line, and she swallows nervously.

"Are…" she starts, cursing herself for her inability to keep the slight tremor out of her voice. "Are they going to attack us?" She finally asks.

And finally, Loki leans back, his head shaking.

"No." He replies easily, confidently. "The task is not theirs. They only are meant to report back on what they see of us."

"Well, shouldn't, I mean… shouldn't we tell Thor, or…" she tries, frightened despite herself.

And again, Loki shakes his head.

"I think not." He says. "Thor will only insist we engage them."

"But…" she looks back to Loki now. "if we don't stop them, they'll tell everyone that we're here!"

Loki nods.

"Aye. And while normally I would have little qualm in pressing the attack against unarmed opponents," he grins at her, and she feels a chill run down her spine at the expression. "Thor will be less so inclined, because, you see, it would not be the honorable thing to do. But still in his blundering entitlement and confidence, he may reveal to them our plan and position, or unintentionally goad them into attacking us, wasting both our time and energy. We will be faced with more than our fair share of trained warriors and bandits on our journey there. There is little need to worry so over what otherwise will remain a non-threat."

"But, if they report back to their leaders about us…"

"They remain oblivious to my own knowledge of them." Loki cuts her short. And then he bows his head slightly, never taking his eyes from her, a faint smile along his thin lips. "They will be taken care of. I will see to it." He promises.

Jane stiffens, at the not so subtle implications of his words, in trepidation at the prospect of being attacked and, as it sinks in, affront at the way Loki speaks of Thor.

"You really think we'll be attacked?" She asked, deciding it safer to focus away from her indignation.

"It is a certainty." Loki replied quickly. "A matter not of if, but simply when. I would estimate within the coming day."

And at that, Jane feels her face blanch slightly, a queasy feeling blooming in the pit of her stomach.

She doesn't relish the thought of encountering the kind of violence she was exposed to back in the palace again. Not ever. Why the hell did Thor bring her on this trip again?

"The prospect frightens you." She hears Loki say, eyes snapping back to him.

His expression gives nothing away, neither happy nor sad, nor angry. She can't read him at all.

"No." She blurts, unthinkingly.

And then he smiles.

"Come now," he says. "lies are my life's blood. There is little enough use in trying to deceive me."

She looks away again, feeling her face burn in embarrassment.

"A little…" she at last admits. "I guess."

Loki nods.

"I told the oaf not to bring you. But rare has it been he has ever heeded my advice."

Jane feels that same anger reignite in her.

She's had it just about up to here, listening to Loki insult Thor.

She glares at him, frowning.

"Why are you helping us Loki?" She asks, her voice a little more agitated than she would have liked. "I mean, it's clearly not for your brother. And I doubt you give two shits about me."

A small smile tugs at the corners of the trickster god's mouth, sardonic, his eyes sliding away from her.

For a long moment, he is silent.

And then he says…

"There are many reasons for the things I do."

"Yeah?" Jane asks, suddenly emboldened, though she doesn't know why. "Thor says it's for your mother. Because of what happened."

At that, Loki's eyes shift back to her, rapidly, and she sees the first, true hints of anger in his gaze since she met him.

Immediate apprehension fills her.

"Thor is a fool." He says simply, tone caustic and bitter.

And like that, the apprehension goes, replaced once more by the anger.

"Call him all the names you like." She spits back. "But he's the bravest man I've ever known."

Loki's expression is no longer the blank, indifferent mask she's used to seeing on him, but hurriedly shifting into something viciously mad. Something dark and chaotic swirling through his vividly green eyes.

"So easy…" he says, and his voice is nearly soundless. "to sing the praises and virtues of one you've known but an instant. Surely then, your appraisal is of far greater value and accuracy than my own. One who has grown and lived with him for eons of your time."

"I know enough." Jane shoots back. "I'm a good judge of character."

Loki scoffs, turning away.

Jane barrels on.

"I was there." She says, not knowing where this newfound courage is coming from. Not really caring. "I was there when the Queen was killed."

Loki visibly stiffens, going frighteningly still.

"I saw her bravery. The way she fought back. And I know enough about Thor to know he got his courage from her. Which seems like more than you probably ever di…"

Abruptly, Loki is standing, so fast, she hadn't even registered the movement, and he is inches from her, hands reared back, as if ready to strike. His face is twisted in a scowl of such pure hatred and fury, that Jane feels her breath leave her, her voice choking out in a startled and terrified gasp, falling back, expecting the blow to land, to take her head off with it.

But it never comes.

Loki is stood there, frozen, glaring down at her, eyes alight and too clear in the dark.

"You know NAUGHT of what you speak!" He hisses. "Of the Queen, or of Thor, or of me. You will hold that tongue of yours, you insolent whelp, or I will tear it from your mouth and eat it whole myself. Do you understand?"

Jane nods frantically without even thinking, eyes wide and thick with unshed tears, her terror having forced them up in an instant.

She's sees the seriousness of his threat. She sees he would, no matter the consequences. No matter if Thor had threatened to kill him for harming her. He would do it.

"I… I'm sorry." She manages to stutter out. "I'm sorry."

He stares down at her a long moment, unmoving, expression the same, teeth bared in utter contempt.

Before at last, his stance relaxes, his arms dropping.

And he turns from her, stepping away.

She watches, silently, as he sinks to his knees, onto the frozen ground, very nearly slumping forward, head bowed.

"I think it best you return to Thor's side now." She hears him mutter, voice low and tired.

Again, Jane nods, though his back is to her, and without hesitation, she rises, eager to get away from him, back to the safety of Thor.

She begins to fumble with the clasp on his cloak, intending to give it back to him.

"Keep it." His voice stills her movements, and her head snaps up, gazing at his still sagging form. "You have greater need of it than I."

She is about to protest, to tell him it's his. But his voice again stops her.

"Frost Giants, after all, never feel the cold."

And then he falls silent, and Jane says nothing in return, simply stepping back, her eyes locked on him a few moments longer, before she hurries back, into the tent.

Back beside Thor, who hasn't moved an inch in her absence.

She hardly sleeps for the rest of the night, something sick and twisting weighing down in her stomach.

Something which feels too much like guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to all of my readers . I appreciate you all so much. Let me know what you thought of this chapter, and thanks so much again!


	5. Chapter 5

When dawn finally breaks, several hours later, Jane wakes to the sounds of soft shuffling and quiet movements somewhere ahead.

Her eyes crack slow open, sight bleary and unfocused for long seconds, some shifting shape before her, large and broad.

She blinks rapidly, and gradually, her vision clears, and she sees him, sees Thor, moving about the small space of the tent, gathering the few things they'd unpacked last night together.

It strikes her, the oddness of his quiet. Thor, who usually is so loud and present.

And she smiles slightly to herself, realizing he's trying to be quiet so as not to wake her. She doesn't know if she'll ever get over how sweet he is.

And then, unbidden, memories of the night before come flooding back to her, and the smile vanishes, and she finds herself consumed by questions of how it is Thor's brother could ever have come from the same place and turned out the way he is.

She remembers the sight of him, sinking to his knees, the violence and fury which had moments before thrummed so powerfully through him draining and vanished in a breath. A flash of explosive rage and then… the slumped form of resignation and defeat.

Jane feels a confusion over Loki. A kind she's unaccustomed to in people.

It was almost as if… before he became so frighteningly angry, before he threatened her so cruelly and without hesitation, she could almost have called him… charming?

Ignoring his constant jibes towards Thor, his conversation had even been almost pleasant.

She supposes she shouldn't be surprised.

It's often said sociopaths can be incredibly charismatic.

And if Loki is as skilled a liar as Thor has indicated, well, you'd have to be charming to pull that off.

It's an act, Jane concludes.

Everything about Loki is a lie, a mask.

The dejection and… sadness she saw in him last night, that must have been a façade, she's sure.

She can't trust him, and she reminds herself she'd do well to remember that.

But then… Thor seems so heavy with regret over Loki. And the way he's sometimes spoken about him, with a kind of thick, sentimental fondness and longing…

If Loki was always as caustic and cold as he is now, she doesn't understand how Thor could have ever mistook him for anything good.

And that's just the thing, isn't it? Thor says Loki, as a boy and as a younger man, had been entirely different. He says Loki had been kind, and sweet, and endlessly curious. Full of wit and charm and laughter.

Had found beauty in almost all things.

Jane finds herself having a difficult time reconciling that description with what she sees now.

She's startled from her thoughts when suddenly she hears Thor speak, having turned around, now facing her.

"You're awake." He says.

Jane slowly, stiffly lifts herself up, pushing a hand back through her tangled hair, still heavy with sleep.

She nods.

"Yeah." She says tiredly. "Morning."

She sees Thor's eyes sweep over her form, confused and uneasy.

"Why do you wear my brother's cloak?" He asks bluntly, voice thick with tension.

For a moment, Jane doesn't understand the question, her brain fogging.

And then, abruptly, she becomes aware of the comforting warmth across her shoulders and upper arms, and her eyes widen, glancing down over herself, seeing the thick, velvety deep green material, pooling over and around her.

"Oh…" she says dumbly. "Oh!"

Her mind scrambles, trying to come up with some excuse, some reason which doesn't sound absolutely awful.

She could tell him the truth.

But… she doesn't know how Thor will react, to hearing she sat outside with his psycho little brother last night and spoke to him.

The tension between them is already palpable and cloying.

But she can't think of a convincing lie either. And besides that, she doesn't think Thor deserves to be lied to.

"I, uh…" she starts, throat feeling tight.

She glances up at Thor, seeing him staring back at her with questioning, weary eyes.

She swallows.

"I couldn't sleep last night." She says, finally. "So I decided to get some fresh air, and…"

She looks away, suddenly fearful of his reaction.

"Loki was still awake, just sitting outside and… he, um, asked… asked if I would join him. So I said sure and I was… well, it was cold outside, and he offered me his cloak."

She shrugged helplessly, daring to glance back at the thunder god.

She can't tell whether Thor looks angry or not, which in itself scares her, since he's usually so easy to read.

The exact opposite of Loki.

He just stares back at her a long moment, saying nothing, face blank.

Before suddenly he shifts towards her, crouching down and taking her small hands in his giant ones.

"He did not harm you, did he?" He asks quietly.

Jane swallows, the memory of Loki threatening to tear her tongue from her mouth flashing through her head, and slowly she shakes her head no.

"No, he… we just talked, and then I came back here and went back to sleep."

"You would tell me if he harmed or threatened you in any way, would you not Jane?" He presses, obviously concerned.

Guilt blooms in her chest as she nods.

Why the hell is she protecting Loki?

She has no doubt if she told Thor what Loki said to her last night, he would march out there right now and she more than likely would witness him beating the ever loving daylights out of the smaller god. And she thinks that might even deter Loki from making any similar threats towards her in the future. So why not tell Thor?

It's not like Loki wouldn't probably deserve it.

But…

She can't explain why the thought of seeing something like that bothers her so much.

Frightens her even…

She tells herself that if Thor beats Loki too badly, then they'll have lost their guide's ability to lead, and there's always the risk Loki would refuse to help them at all after that. And then they'd be stuck here.

That's what she tells herself, but…

He let her keep his cloak last night.

That was… a kindness, no matter the circumstances. He let her…

Almost unconsciously, she lifts her hands out of Thor's and pulls the cloak over her arms, feeling the soft material beneath the pads of her fingers.

"It's always warm…" she says softly, unable to keep the hint of awe from her voice.

When she looks back to the thunder god, she sees a vague smile tugging at the corners of his lips, almost sad.

He nods.

"Aye." He says quietly. "I remember the day Loki came back from Alfheim with that cloak in hand. It has been many centuries past since then."

Jane's eyes go slightly wide at the revelation.

"Really?" She asks, shocked.

Again he nods.

"Loki had had it commissioned specially by the finest tailor of the Realm at the time and went to claim it upon its completion. It is as fine craftsmanship as you will find in such an article. But the enchantment on it is his own. He spelled it to keep its wearer warm always, in all conditions. There were many times he and I found ourselves in Jotunheim, when I would be near frozen to death, and he would give it to me to wear…"

His voice trails off, and he looks away, face dropping in memory.

"I have little doubt I would not have made it through some of those early ventures had he not been there and done so."

Jane watches him a moment, feeling her heart sink at the sight of his own pain, and without thinking, she reaches out, taking gentle hold of his thick wrist.

He looks back to her.

She frowns.

"I'm sorry Thor." She whispers.

He smiles weakly back, reaching up, cupping her cheek in his calloused palm, nodding once.

"It is well, Jane." He says. "It is well."

/

When at last she and Thor emerge, Jane spots Loki a few dozen yards away. He is crouched down, bound hands braced against the hard ground. His head is turned away from them and cocked slightly, and he is incredibly still, as though he's listening for something.

Jane finds herself wondering if he had slept at all last night.

His skin looks even more pale in the muted morning light of the place, contrasted sharply with the raven black of his long hair.

"What's he doing?" Jane asks absently as Thor begins taking down the tent and packing it away.

Thor turns, glancing at Jane a moment before his eyes move to his brother.

"Mapping our course." He says.

Jane turns to look at him.

And Thor goes on.

"Loki has long since been among the finest hunters in Asgard." He says. "His intuitive sense of the land and detail for tracking is second to only a rare few, though it isn't a skill he has ever been well acknowledged for. He is gifted, but Loki has never enjoyed the hunt as many of us have."

He nods towards his brother, still crouched, unmoving.

"He tells me an army of some three hundred passed through here perhaps four days previous. Likely Maliketh's retreating forces."

Jane's eyes go wide, body rigid.

"Three hundred?" She breaths in a whisper. "H… how can he tell?" She glances nervously back to Loki, whose head is now turned the other way, looking out over the distance.

"The displacement of the ground." Thor answers. "It is an estimate on his part, but likely accurate. They are headed towards their stronghold in the main city."

"We won't…" she begins, feeling suddenly dizzy with anxiety.

Thor shakes his head, already knowing what she intends to ask.

"They are likely already to the city. We will not encounter them."

"But," she says, voice wavering. "Loki said last night that we'd probably run into warriors before we get there. He said even today maybe."

Thor nods.

"Aye. Loki speaks true. There are many units patrolling these lands. It is a certainty we will encounter groups of them before our quest reaches its end."

For a long moment, Jane only looks to the ground. She feels herself winding tight with anxiety, and she nods stiffly, unsure of how else to respond.

And then she feels Thor's giant, rough hands, cupping her cheeks gently, lifting her face to him.

He smiles at her softly.

"Jane, I will let no harm befall you." He promises. "I swear it."

She forces herself to smile back.

She trusts Thor.

She does.

But this situation… she can't help feeling it's beyond even his control.

She can't…

"We should move out."

Jane gasps at the voice suddenly beside them, turning with widened eyes, and staring up at the expressionless face of Thor's younger brother.

Jesus, she hadn't even heard him walk up!

Loki's eyes flash briefly to her, seemingly unaffected by her shocked response, before looking back to Thor.

"If we wish to make any substantial progress in the next, few days, assuming your mortal tires as quickly as she did yesterday,"

Again, he glances at Jane, clear resentment etched into his features now.

Jane glances away, suddenly embarrassed.

"we should not waste our time here dallying." Loki finishes, voice cold and clipped.

Thor's face twists in a scowl.

"You will show Jane the proper respect, brother." He demands sharply.

Loki's expression affects only boredom.

"No disrespect, Thor." Loki says quietly, turning away and beginning to gather what few of their items remain scattered about the put out fire pit. "Just a simple stating of facts."

He turns again, handing the gathered cups and tins to the elder god, before once more facing back, beginning to move away, towards where they're meant to go.

It is a few, long seconds later, that both she and Thor realize Loki has already resumed their journey, and the two of them scramble behind, pulling their belongings together in haste before running after to catch up.

/

They are perhaps an hour and a half in to their trek when it happens.

Both Thor and Loki freeze near simultaneously, standing and stiffening, heads cocked aside, as though they've both heard something Jane cannot.

She feels herself wanting to ask what's going on. The words on her tongue, mouth falling open to speak.

But what happens next comes with such swiftness, all words and thoughts die instantly within her, and all she has time for anymore is feeling. Sheer, consuming panic and sickening fear.

She feels a crushing grip round her shoulder, long, thin fingers which shouldn't be near as powerful as they feel, digging into her flesh.

It's Loki, and he's shouting in her face to get down, an instant later tossing her to the ground like she's nothing.

She hits it, hard, the breath knocking from her lungs, leaving her gasping and desperate.

Violence explodes around her.

What seems from all sides, a group of what looks like the same creatures which had attacked Asgard come pouring in, towards them. Dozens upon dozens of them.

They're screaming, all of them, the sound deafening in its intensity, and without thinking, Jane's hands shoot up, covering her ears in horrified terror, eyes wide as she takes in the sight around her.

Thor is bellowing back, his hammer already in hand, swinging it in a wide arc at the oncoming attackers.

Jane sees the weapon pass through several of them as though they aren't there at all, before finally colliding with a solid form.

The elf drops instantly like a bag of bones. He doesn't get back up, and there's blood. So much blood, and Jane feels sick.

Loki is screaming something at Thor, but she can't make out the words, too much noise around her, the sound of metal and tearing and screaming and chaos. And Thor doesn't seem to hear either, too busy swinging at… at nothing. His hammer keeps going through these things.

And then Loki is ducking, coming up and smashing his elbows into the face of an elf, shattering the creature's nose and dropping him near as effectively as Thor's hammer had that first one.

Jane sees the younger god dash off towards a thicket of trees, and she thinks this is it, that he's abandoning her and Thor, to be killed by these horrible beings, and with that thought, anger blooms inside her chest, and hatred.

She feels betrayed, and she doesn't even know why.

It's not like Loki ever promised her anything, ever owed her anything.

She thinks to get up, to move. To do something. She can't just sit here and watch Thor get killed the way she did his mother. She can't.

But she feels paralyzed to the spot, unable to will herself to action, thinking even if she were able to, there would be nothing… nothing she could do.

Useless.

Useless, weak.

A burden, just like Loki said.

Just like…

Her eyes stay fixed on the trickster god, watching as a literal horde of elves chase after him, running him into the trees.

She sees him drop to his knees, sliding forward from his momentum, narrowly missing the swing of a sword aimed at the line of his neck, the attacking elf losing his balance and falling forward, nearly toppling onto Loki before the god rolls, moving out of the way.

Jane sees him come up onto his knees, and then to his feet in one, swift motion, impossibly graceful. And then her eyes are widening in disbelief, as she sees him plunge his still bound hands into the earth at the base of a thick, tall tree, and a moment later, he's tearing the thing up by its roots. The whole fucking thing, and this just isn't possible.

But it isn't stopping, this impossible feat of strength, a roar of effort tearing from Loki's lips as he uproots the thing entirely, and he's then taking hold of it, fingers breaking through the thick bark, cracking and crushing into the wood beneath.

And then he's lifting the god damned thing up, a tree at least thirty feet in height and six or seven feet in width, and Jesus fucking Christ, the thing must weight ten or fifteen tons, and he's picking it up into the air like it's a twig.

But he'd looked so weak. When she'd seen him before, so thin and wasted away.

And brutally, Jane is again reminded that they aren't human, these two men she's with.

They aren't even close, not even remotely.

She feels a kind of awe inspiring fear then, as she watches him use the tree, a fucking tree, like it's a staff, swinging it at his attackers, crushing them back and away from him.

And then he's running with the thing, back out of the woods, in Thor's direction, ducking and maneuvering around an onslaught of elves, swinging only occasionally, knocking them aside.

He's back at Thor's side in a moment, and it scarcely registers to Jane that he hasn't left them, that he's fighting alongside Thor, too overcome by her disbelief at what she's seeing.

"Thor!" She hears him scream. "They're using duplicates! But their siedr is weak and clumsily wielded. Their constructs lack solidity. Pay attention! You're wasting your energy swinging Mjolnir at nothing. There are only sixteen actual warriors surrounding us."

But again, it seems Thor is hardly paying attention, throwing his hammer, the thing zipping through air and straight through the figure before him before being called back and slapping with a loud thud into the palm of his hand.

Loki growls in frustration, dropping down as a staff is swung at his head, spinning the tree about as he comes back up and smashing it into his attacker, throwing the elf back some sixty plus feet.

"Thor!" He yells out again, turning to the thunder god, cracking the tree's trunk against another incoming elf before tossing the thing aside completely.

Jane watches it sail through the air, crashing and landing atop a group of three elves, pinning them, at least momentarily, to the hard ground.

Loki thrusts his bound wrists out towards Thor.

"Undo the fetter!" Loki demands, voice urgent. "I can end this in a matter of seconds if you just…"

Thor swings, finally catching one of the elves, crushing his skull in with a sickening squelch before, at last, he turns to his little brother.

His expression for a moment seems to be considering, unsure as he glances down at Loki's outreached hands.

"THOR!" Loki screams in his face, voice thick with impatience. "NOW!"

And finally, Thor reaches back, fingers quickly undoing the binds, pulling it away from thin, bruised wrists.

The moment he does, there is an eruption of blindingly bright, white light, tinged green at its edges, Jane thinks, before she has to turn away completely, eyes shutting against the burning glare.

There is a crushing wave of sound and wind, blowing her back several feet, landing her unceremoniously on her face, and when she finally recovers herself, once more robbed of her breath, she turns, her eyes blown wide as she sees the mischief god, standing back to back with Thor, blasts of what looks like pure, green and white light, shooting from the tips of his fingers, blasting back wave upon wave of elves, most of them disintegrating into what seems thin air, leaving only perhaps a dozen or so left, most of them thrown off their feet, struggling to get back up.

And then she sees Loki pulling from nowhere what looks like daggers or some kind of throwing… blades, glittering and horrifyingly sharp, reflecting off the muted light of the sun. And he's throwing them, with so much force and precision, she can scarcely follow the movement of it, seeing only the result, the knives burying in the throats and chests and eyes of half a dozen of the remaining elves, downing them instantly, keeping them there.

Jane is frozen, eyes fixed and intent and shocked on the display before her.

Thor throws his hammer, taking out four more of the creatures, their heads literally tearing from their shoulders, their dead bodies dropping to the ground as the hammer makes its return flight to its owners hand.

Two more knives thrown, two more elves killed, and then Jane sees a shadow fall across her, and her insides freeze in dread as she turns, her mouth falling open in a scream as she sees one of them standing above her, face twisted in insanity and bloodlust.

The thing is at least a foot taller than Thor himself, thin as a wisp, hands raised above it, gripped round the hilt of a broad, heavy sword…

Ready to bring it down upon her head and crack it in two.

The scream never makes it past her lips.

There is another flash of brilliant, blinding light, directly behind the elf, and suddenly, Loki is standing there, and he moves so fast. So, so fast.

He is on the elf before the creature can so much as make another move, reaching out and grabbing hold of his arms, tearing him back.

Long, thin fingers grasp around dark blue wrists, crushing, and the elf screams in agonized pain, even as his own fingers come undone round the hilt of his weapon, dropping it, and with terrifying violence, Loki hardens his grip, the nauseating sound of bones breaking filling the air. And he's jerking the elf's arms down, the screams pitching higher, and there is the sound of tearing flesh and sinew and muscle.

And then Loki is kicking the creatures feet out from under him, bringing him to his knees, and in the next instant, he is gripping the sides of the elf's head, long, long fingers burying into white hair, and with one, seemingly effortless move, he twists it hard to the left, all the way, until it is turned near a full half circle. There is a horrifying crunching noise, and then nothing.

Loki lets go, the elf dropping, dead and twisted to the ground before Jane.

She stares a moment at the disfigured thing which had, just moments before, been poised to take her head off.

She feels numb, uncomprehending.

Somewhere, she thinks she hears Thor's voice, calling out her name in panic and thick with fear.

Her eyes lift, and she sees him there. Loki. Staring down at her with unreadable features. Face blank.

He is covered in blood, splatters of it across his pale skinned cheeks and hands and across the front of his armor.

He says nothing, eyes burning and bright and too, too green.

Jane turns, and for the second time since this all began, she throws up onto the ground beneath her hands and knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a note about Loki's epic display of strength. Loki is ranked in the Marvel universe as a class 50 strength level, which means he can lift about 50 tons. So, I figured a tree wouldn't pose much of a problem for him.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed, and as always, your reviews and support are HUGELY appreciated. Let me know what you thought, and thank you so much again!


	6. Chapter 6

It takes her several minutes to recover from the shock. From the paralyzing fear and certainty that she was going to die, only to be saved by the last person she ever expected such from.

Loki hasn't been kind to her since, turning and walking away after she'd begun expunging her insides onto the ground, again.

Jane doesn't have a clue why she feels so embarrassed over it.

It's not like she cares, or should care, what someone like Loki thinks of her.

It's just… the way he looks at her sometimes…

Thor is with her now, bent down beside her on his great knees, large hand pressed against her back, rubbing soothing circles through the material of her shirt. His other hand holds her hair back from her face, telling her softly that it's alright. That she's alright.

After seeing Loki rip that tree out of the ground and wield it like it was nothing more than a stick, she finds herself wondering how the hell it is Thor is able to be so gentle. With that kind of strength running through his veins.

She would think he would crush her, if through nothing but pure accident.

Like a tiger accidentally killing its trainer, thinking they were another tiger.

She's sure Thor is even stronger than Loki. He has to be.

He's told her that Loki is considered physically weak amongst the Aesir. Smaller and less substantial than most of them.

But she can't even imagine what that must mean. What the rest of them can do, if that's the case.

And for the first time, irrational as it is, she feels a certain kind of fear of Thor. She knows he would never intentionally hurt her, but still…

Loki is standing several feet away, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed. He looks like he's thinking. About what, Jane has no idea, and won't even bother trying to decipher it.

Every few moments, she sees him glance towards them, expression, as always, blank to her.

But it strikes her suddenly, how apart he seems.

How alone.

Several minutes more pass, until Jane begins to feel herself calm and recover, and she tells Thor she's alright now.

Thor asks several times if she's sure, and Jane just keeps nodding, saying "yeah".

Finally, the thunder god seems to accept the answer, and he stands, helping Jane to her feet as he does so.

She sees Loki stiffen, standing straighter, more rigid.

And then Thor is making his way towards the younger god, pulling the fetter from his belt as he approaches.

Loki scowls, stepping back, eyes fixed hard on him.

"Loki, put your hands out." Thor commands, the implication of his intent clear.

Again, Loki steps back, face twisting further.

"Thor, no." He says. "You must see the folly of binding me in this place. It is too dangerous."

Thor's expression is apparent in its lack of patience, and he shakes his head briskly, frown deep.

"You are too dangerous, brother. I cannot allow you to walk about freely with access to your magic. I promised to undo your binds when the need arises, and I did."

Loki's eyes narrow in anger.

"Only after I implored for you to do so several times!" He spits, voice thick with disgust. "And only after you saw your inert ineffectiveness against the elves and their magic. You are beyond your depth here, Odinson! You need my magic readily available if we are to make it to the city hale and whole."

Again, Thor shakes his head, taking a step closer.

"No, Loki. You know the arrangement, and I will not be persuaded by your manipulations."

Loki's mouth drops open in disbelief.

"Manipulations?" He asks. "I fail to see how this qualifies as such when I merely state an obvious truth!"

"Loki, do not make me force you to comply with the agreement between us!" Thor's voice rises threateningly, again taking a step towards his brother. "I will not hesitate should you do so."

"You mean you harbor no qualms taking advantage of yet another opportunity to cow and humiliate me before those you wish to impress?" Loki snaps back, voice pitching slightly higher.

There is a pain there, Jane thinks. Something she hasn't quite yet heard before, like some long standing complaint, and it makes her heart clench unpleasantly.

"Your delusions continue in their grandiosity Loki. I have never wished to humiliate you."

Loki chokes out what might be a laugh.

"Indeed, not?" He asks incredulously, as though what Thor says is nothing but a ridiculous joke. "Well, I did not say it was your specific desire to do so, Thor. Only that your regard for me has been so little that you have never once thought twice of using me as a tool to raise up the heights of your own self-proclaimed honor and glory. It has, after all, been ever a simple thing, to make ones self appear great when faced against an opponent weak as I. Oh, but do not take my word for it, brother. Ask any number of your stalwart friends, and surely they will regale you of the countless times they took to challenging me upon the practice fields in a sure attempt to impress upon others their own skill as warriors. Look! See how easily I dispose of a Prince of the most powerful Realm in all the nine! And then recall for yourself, Odinson, all the times you said the same!"

Thor's features drain fast of what little patience they had left.

"ENOUGH!" He roars. "Loki, I will not ask you again! Hold out your hands!"

He takes another, threatening stop forward, and Loki's lip curls, stance rigid with the readiness of a fight.

"Thor, wait!"

The thunder god freezes, and Loki's frame winds only tighter, eyes flashing away from the elder Prince and finding Jane, stepping towards them.

Thor turns, staring down at her, confused.

"Just wait." She repeats, softer now. "Leave it off him. He's right."

Thor turns fully towards her then, straightening, frown heavy across his lips.

"Jane," He starts. "you do not know what he is capable of when loosed. I cannot allow…"

"But he's right Thor." Jane cuts him off sharply.

For a moment, her eyes move to Loki, and she sees him staring at her with unhidden suspicion and terrifying assessment. He's looking for something in her, and it forces her gaze away, back to Thor.

"He saved our asses just now. Whatever these guys have, magic or whatever the hell you want to call it, your brother's the only one who seems to know how to counter it. If you tie him up again the way he was before, who's to say we'll have the time to free him next time we're attacked? By then, it might be too late."

"But…"

"No Thor." Again, she cuts him short. "Listen, you dragged me out here on this thing, so I think that qualifies me to have a say in what happens. I don't trust him anymore than you do, but what other choice do we have? Without him, we're sitting ducks out here. That much is obvious. I was almost just killed and he saved me. I have no idea why, but he did. We need his voodoo crap whatever to fight these guys! And I'm not willing to die out here because of whatever ridiculous spat you two have going on between you!"

She steps closer to the thunderer then, staring determinedly up at him, refusing to yield.

She has no idea where her sudden moxy is coming from. Maybe that's what near death experiences will do for you, she thinks grimly.

"Just… let him go." She says. "It's what we need."

For a long moment, Thor only looks back at her, silent, clear eyes considering and thoughtful, and again, Jane is reminded of why she is so taken with this man.

It's a ridiculous notion, that a being of his power and rank and standing would even take notice of her, a lowly human girl of no particular importance or relevance within her own world, let alone his.

But he does, and he's thinking about what she's just said now, giving it value.

And she hardly finds herself surprised when at last, he nods, and tells her she's right. Or when he apologizes to her for being so blind and arrogant.

She is taken with his compassion and generosity, smiling and struck silly by the charm of him.

And so she nearly misses it, when Loki storms past them without a word, continuing on ahead.

Apart…

… And alone.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He hangs from the ceiling by manacles, thick, metal cuffs round his ankles, digging unrelentingly into already blackened, bruised skin. He is stretched out, his arms pulled past his head, bound to the floor beneath by the same sort of bind, these round his too thin wrists.

Logically, he can tell himself the reason for why they have him bound so, upside down. It's to keep him disoriented. Confused. The same reason they have a blindfold over his eyes, and a gag stretched taught past his teeth and pulled too tight round the back of his head.

The same way he can tell himself they have him stripped naked as a means of humiliation.

Logically, he knows all these things.

But logic does little to temper the effectiveness of such tactics.

Loki is scared.

Though he does his best to hide the fact.

The same as he struggles not to react, not to flinch when he hears the slice of the whip through the air, or to cry out when it falls and tears across his exposed, raw and bleeding back.

The gag helps only marginally in suppressing the screams which want to force their way up his throat. Instead, they come out as pathetic whimpers. And there is little he can do for the tears which spring unbidden to his eyes and slip down his face.

The pain is too much.

He has tried escaping. Tried using his magic. But the cuffs which hold him are enchanted, designed to repress his own power. Work, Loki knows, which could only have been crafted by the hand of another, powerful sorcerer.

And that, he thinks, is what frightens him most of all.

For a sorcerer of this skill, he knows, will know how to hurt another.

He hears the whip crack, and then the searing agony of it across his back for the dozinth time in the last, few minutes. He tries choking down the pitiful groan which forces its way past his lips, and shame burns his cheeks as the slow flow of saliva dribbles past the corners of his mouth. The taste of copper coats his swollen tongue, washing down his throat, and nausea threatens to make him vomit.

Two times more, the whip comes down, and then there is the sound of a door opening, somewhere ahead of him, creaking loud and jarring on its hinges.

The torture pauses, if only for a moment. But still, Loki can feel his body grow slack with the relief of it. Ripping sharp pain subsides into a duller throbbing ache through him.

Oh, Gods… he wishes he could pass out.

And then, abruptly, the blindfold is torn from his eyes, and then the gag.

He blinks rapidly, and then clamps his lids shut, the sudden influx of light after two days of darkness blinding him, searing his retinas.

It takes nearly a minute before he is able to ease into the unwelcome brightness, his lids cracking open slowly. And at first, he is met with nothing but blurred shapes, out of focus and indistinguishable.

Until eventually, his vision begins to clear, and he sees before him a being unlike any he has ever laid eyes on.

An Elf, to be certain. But there is, very apparently, something not normal about him.

He is no dark Elf. But nor is he light. The longer Loki gazes at him, trying to make sense of what he sees, the more unnerved he becomes.

For he senses the two races in the one being before him, skin split and bleeding into the two tones of each kind, and by all laws of nature, such a thing should not be possible.

It is a well known truth throughout the Nine Realms that Dark Elves are incapable of mating with Light, and the same is true in turn for the other.

What Loki sees before him should not be possible.

But there it is, all the same, and the evidence of black magic seizes his heart and grips it in deadening pressure.

He swallows back bile and blood and spit, forcing his features into a mask of impassivity. He says nothing, and the creature before him smiles.

And Loki feels fear anew.

"Hello there, little Prince." The Elf speaks.

Still, the god does not answer, keeping his eyes ahead and focused.

He can see in this creatures eyes he seeks pleasure in fear. He can see the desire for it in those sharp, pale blue eyes. To cause it in his captive.

He stares at Loki like he is prey, and Loki feels distinctly the part then.

He refuses to show it.

But when the Elf reaches out, towards his face, the god cannot help the way he flinches violently away, turning his head.

It gains him little though, as his chin is seized, and his face is brought back forward.

The Elf's smile stretches to a grin, revealing a row of sharp, crooked teeth.

"My, but you are young." He says, leaning closer, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "I would say four, perhaps five centuries? No more than a child still."

Finally, he releases his grip, and instinctively, Loki turns his head away again.

The Elf tisks.

"Too young, really, to be fighting such battles as the one we pulled you from. The Aesir though… such barbarians, sending their children to war."

"… What do you want with me?" Loki finally manages to find his voice, the question coming out a rough whisper, his voice hoarse and weak from the past two days of screaming and no water.

The Elf continues smiling, stepping back and clasping his hands together. Long, razor sharp nails adorn each finger.

"So blunt!" He exclaims. "And here I'd heard tales of your silver tongue and cunning wit!" He laughs, and Loki flinches at the grating noise.

"Well, no matter…" the creature goes on after a moment. "though stories of your intelligence may be exaggerated, rumor of the power you hold within you is not."

Once more, he reaches out, long, thin fingers tickling along Loki's cheek, before shifting down, into his hair, massaging against his scalp in some parody of kindness.

"You are a very gifted young man, Loki, Prince of Asgard." He says. "I have not sensed such strong magical energy in a being so young since I myself was a boy. But you… you hold a power greater even than my own! Even being the youngling you are, and with such clumsy technique as you yet possess, you were able to single handedly take out a quarter of my forces. It is simply extraordinary!"

Loki's eyes narrow, and again, he attempts to jerk his head away from the Elf's touch.

"So you desire my energy?" He accuses. "You cannot have it. Any sorcerer of skill would know that you cannot harness the power of another. It is too closely bound to its owner. Even if you were to siphon it off and take it into yourself, it would rebel against you and likely destroy you."

The Elf smiles yet again.

"I see you are well learned, little Prince." He replies, seemingly unfazed. "And yes, you are correct in what you say. But…"

He pauses, finally letting the god go, stepping back.

"Well," he continues. "let me explain to you who I am. I am named Malekith, known throughout the Nine Realms as the Accursed, in acknowledgement of my many successful conquests, one of which I was in the process of achieving upon Alfheim before the Realm of the gods decided to intervene, bringing you with them."

He steps back, regarding Loki closely a moment.

"Hmm." He smiles. "And what an interesting discovery you have proven. Oh, yes, all have heard rumor of Asgard's second, weaker Prince. One with a gift for magic, if not for battle. So imagine my surprise then, to see it was this selfsame boy who all but by himself was driving my army back from their purpose. I just had to see it for myself. And indeed, the strength of your seidr is something to behold."

Loki grits his teeth, growing angry and frustrated.

"Cease this prattling and tell me what it is you seek!" He spits, impatient and reckless.

He is a Prince, and he is unused to being dragged along except by Thor.

"I wish for you to join me." Malekith answers quickly and without hesitation. "With your power and my knowledge, we could prove an unstoppable force. The Nine Realms could be ours for the taking! Even the might of Asgard itself would fall before us!"

For a moment, Loki's eyes go wide in incredulousness, words lost to him.

This must be some sort of jest, he thinks. Some manner of sick and twisted humor.

"You speak madly." He replies after a moment, working to keep his voice steady.

Malekith laughs.

"Hardly." He replies easily.

Loki shakes his head, the strands of his black hair damp with sweat and blood.

"You think I would betray my own home? My own family?" He asks, unable to keep the astonishment from his tone.

And Malekith's lips spread only into a wide grin at that.

"There are rumors too, little Prince," he begins, smoothly, voice soft. "of the regard you receive at the hands of the other gods."

He steps closer, leaning down until he is near eye level with the trickster, and Loki notices with a start, suddenly, how very tall this Elf is. In the least a foot taller than himself, and intimidation blooms unwanted within his chest.

"They do not appreciate your gifts, as I would." Malekith says, smiling, reaching a hand up and cupping his palm gently against Loki's cheek, caressing the skin almost soothingly.

"They spurn you, do they not? Ridicule you and call you argr?"

He leans closer, until his lips are beside the god's ear.

"Hate you, even?" He whispers.

And Loki jerks away, turning his face and clamping his eyes tight, as though that will make disappear the despair which suddenly takes vicious hold of his heart. Keep the suffocating loneliness he feels every day from bubbling suddenly and horrifyingly to the surface, threatening to consume him whole.

Keep the woe of his memories at bay.

The laughter ringing in his ears as he's thrown to the ground and so easily disarmed by Sif.

The feel of his cheeks flushing and burning bright with the humiliation of being asked which maidens he's bedded, and having no stories to share. For no maiden had ever yet approached him. Ugly as he is. And he is too shy to ask, knowing already they will only laugh.

The pain of never being chosen by the others in games of teams, and left behind by Thor, learning from Mother that he's taken the Warriors three and Sif on a hunt. Being told he is too small, too weak, too young to join them.

Told he is not good enough.

Never good enough.

Never...

"Will you not join me?" Malekith's voice breaks through his churning thoughts. "Will you not take the respect which should only rightly be accorded to someone of your standing and talent, but which is so unjustly denied you instead? Will you not make those simpering, ungrateful fools pay for their arrogance and entitlement?"

Loki feels his thumb brush tenderly against the skin of his cheek, and he feels a sickening dread spread through his stomach.

"Join me, and you will have all you have ever desired, little Prince."

Loki jerks his head away again, and then he turns, spitting right in Malekith's face.

"Go to Hel!" He hisses.

And in an instant, the Elf's features twist in disgusted rage, and without further warning, he backhands Loki as hard as he can, across the mouth, twisting his head almost fully to the side, fresh blood spreading over his tongue as his teeth cut into the flesh of his cheek.

"Impudent child!" Malekith rages.

In an instant, he has the god's jaw, held firm in his grip, squeezing painfully.

"You know not who you trifle with!" He goes on in a fury. "I will make you regret the day you were born! The day you dared defy me!"

And suddenly, there is a surge of white hot agony, coursing through Loki's skull, what feels like through his very brain, and he feels the cold press of Malekith's palm, flat against his chest, and a rush of burning energy is at once flowing into him.

It feels as though his insides are turning to liquid, his very blood boiling inside his veins.

Unbidden, a scream both of terror and suffering tears from his lips, and he hasn't even the time to think of stifling it, so engulfed is he by the wretched sensations working through him, tears springing and building thick in his eyes, streaming down his face.

He can taste more blood, and feels it then, dripping from his nose.

Malekith sneers at him in hatred.

"I possess a knowledge of the dark arts you NEVER shall, you worthless cur!" He hisses. "I will undo you from the inside out, until you beg for me to end your life, you pathetic, weakling boy!"

The pain grows impossibly worse, and another cry rips from Loki's throat, echoing off the walls, and he thinks please… please… he wants his Father… he wants he Mother… he wants Thor…

Oh gods, gods, please, somebody…

But nobody comes.

And the pain devours him, until mercifully, the world fades to black.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

After a hard day of travel, Jane finds herself unable to sleep that night.

She thinks for the bizarre sight of seeing Loki asleep across from her, all the way at the other side of the tent. But still, he is there, lying across the grass covered ground.

And he does not sleep easy.

He twitches and turns and what she thinks are soft moans escape past his lips every few moments, quiet and pained and lost.

He must be dreaming, and she wonders what about.

Whatever it is, it keeps him from rest, and she knows from that his mind must be filled with something hard.

And she finds herself unsettled by such a revelation.

That anything at all troubles this violent, cold man.

She continues to watch him, there in the dark, hearing his rich voice mutter incoherently in a whisper, seeing in the shadows the planes of his elegantly structured face fold and pull in tortured expressions.

And he looks so different, so unlike the blank, unreadable person he is in waking.

He looks so… young.

A boy of no more than 21 or 22.

And yet Thor has told her he and his brother are both thousands of years old.

She can hardly conceive of it.

Her thoughts are broken abruptly and harshly as a sudden, sharp gasp erupts past the mischief god's lips, and he rockets up violently, eyes huge and shot wide.

Jane flinches at the unexpected movement and sound, her heart hammering in her chest, managing just to keep herself still as she continues watching him.

Even in the night, she can see the sweat glistening off of his porcelain skin, torso shirtless and exposed, and she wonders at it for the cold of the air pressing in around them.

His chest is rising and falling at a rapid rate, and she sees his hand come up against it, pressing flat, his breath coming out in an almost rasping wheeze.

Behind her, Thor doesn't even stir.

For nearly a minute, she keeps watching, Loki seemingly oblivious to her doing so, too concentrated on calming himself down.

And then, at once, he seems to stiffen, and his head turns, sharp and fast in her direction, too bright eyes fixing on her.

Jane just barely manages to close her own before he sees her looking back, and she feels a shot of fear work through her, pooling in the pit of her stomach.

She can hear her heart pounding in her ears now, the heat of his gaze heavy upon her, and she prays he didn't notice, didn't realize what she'd been doing.

Futile as those prayers seem to her.

Loki, she doesn't think, is the sort to ever miss anything.

She waits what seems forever, holding herself as still as she can.

And then she hears the rustling of fabric, and a barely audile grunt, and she dares to slit her eyes open the barest amount, seeing him then, turned away from her, struggling to his feet.

And the sight is in such stark contrast to the strength and power she had seen him execute earlier that same day.

It takes him several tries before he is able to push himself up, and she sees him standing there, his back to her a long moment, a visible tremor working through his frame, before at last, he steps forward, towards the tents exit.

He makes it two steps before what strength he has seems to give out on him completely, and with a groan, he collapses suddenly to his knees.

Jane doesn't even think about it before instinct has her sitting up and reaching out, and saying…

"Are you alright?"

She realizes a moment too late what she's just done, and freezes in terror, even as she sees him stiffen and still.

For long, torturous moments, silence fills the space, and he doesn't reply.

She doesn't think he will.

But then, his soft voice filters through the air and comes to her ears.

"… Perfectly well." He says, not bothering to turn. "You need not concern yourself Ms. Foster."

That's about as obvious an untruth as she's likely to ever see from him, she thinks, watching as his thin shoulders tremble.

She swallows, shifting slightly where she sits.

"Are… a-are you sure?" She asks, keeping her voice hushed. "I… I saw you, I mean, I heard you sleeping and it seemed like…"

"Spare your pity for one in want and need of it Ms. Foster." He cuts her off abruptly, voice cold and sharp. "Waste it not on me. Such is not for those of my ilk."

"I… I'm sorry." She stammers awkwardly, taken off guard by his aggressive response. "I didn't mean…"

Her voice trails off as her eyes adjust better to the dark, and she sees, in the soft beam of moonlight which filters through the tents fold, falling across the god's exposed back…

Jesus Christ…

Jesus Christ…

Raised lines, scar tissue formed from what she can only assume were severe whippings. Dozens upon dozens of them, crisscrossing and overlapping upon each other.

She doesn't understand.

She's seen his naked back before, and she saw none of that, saw nothing…

She can't help the small gasp which escapes her throat, her hand coming to her mouth.

Nor her voice, as she whispers out in shocked dismay…

"Your back…"

And again, she sees him go rigid.

And then very quickly, he is again pushing himself to his feet, fighting to stay standing.

Moments pass in silence.

And then he says…

"Aye. My back."

He sounds resigned, defeated.

Once more, she swallows thickly, her throat dry.

"… What… what happened?" She hears herself ask, her mind shouting at her to stop, unable still to help her morbid curiosity.

For several, long seconds, she receives no response.

And then she hears him laugh, the sound bitter and contemptuous.

"Many things." He says. "Many things have happened."

Jane pauses, dread filling her gut.

"… You were whipped?" She asks, knowing the question is absurd.

"Heh." He snorts. "Aye. Many times."

…

"By who?"

"… Everyone."

His voice is a whisper.

"Everyone?" Jane questions, not understanding.

She sees him nod.

"Yes." He says. "All in the Nine, Ms. Foster. All in the Nine have, in some fashion or other, had their way with me. Elves and dwarves and gods and giants."

He turns to her then, face looking back over his shoulder, and she feels her eyes go wide in horror.

He smiles at her, and his lips, oh God, his lips…

Around them the skin is gnarled and twisted in hideous scarring, half a dozen healed over wounds each along the upper and lower.

Jane thinks she may very well be sick for a third time in front of him, before he turns away.

And as he pulls the flap to the tent back, she hears him say, very softly…

"A good night to you, Ms. Foster."

And then he's gone. And she knows, for her this night, his parting words are to be an impossibility.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

Thor watches Jane from across the space, drawing the strings of his sack tight.

Her own eyes are fixed ahead, unseeing on some indistinct spot. She doesn't notice him studying her, and he frowns deeply.

"Something troubles you." He states finally, and it takes a moment before she seems to hear him.

Her head snaps up, eyes dazed as they find him.

"Hmm?" She asks.

"You are distracted Jane, and distant since you woke. What ails your thoughts?"

A long moment passes, where still it seems her mind is trying to catch up to his words. And then she glances away, seemingly embarrassed.

"That obvious, huh?" She asks.

Thor smiles thinly.

"I am not so dense as some might have you believe." He answers.

She smiles back, glancing at him a moment before her eyes flit away again.

"I know." She says softly, falling silent once more.

Thor watches her a second longer, before dropping his pack and moving closer.

"Jane," he pushes, kneeling down at her side once he reaches her. "tell me what the matter is."

He reaches out, taking hold of her hand, grasping it gently.

She looks up at him, and he sees a kind of nervous upset in her eyes that he can't understand, or place.

Is it because of what happened yesterday? The attack from the marauders?

"Jane?"

"I saw Loki wake up last night." She blurts out suddenly.

Thor's expression immediately grows concerned, and confused.

"From… from a nightmare, I guess." Jane goes on. "He just… shot up and was breathing hard and…"

Her voice trails off as Thor's features seem to soften, and he nods vaguely.

"Loki has ever suffered night terrors." He says. "As a child, he used to come to my chambers at night, seeking comfort from the dreams he had." He smiles faintly at the memory, his lips quickly falling though as he goes on. "But it has been long centuries since he has shared what dreams plague him with me. I do not know the things which haunt him now."

Jane's own lips pull into a frown, glancing away. She swallows thickly, hesitating to say the words which wait to be spoken, the questions she finds herself weighed down by since the night previous.

"He has…" she pauses, eyes closing against the horrible images which flash in her mind. "his back." She breaths. "he has all these…"

"Scars." Thor says for her.

Her head snaps up, eyes wide.

She nods weakly.

"And… and his lips, around…" her hand raises, fingers touching her own lips as though to demonstrate.

At this, Thor glances away, face falling in some unspoken agony.

"I didn't… I mean, before," Jane says. "why couldn't I…"

"Loki wears a glamour about himself to hide the scars." He says. "Even with his magic bound, it is still within him, and thus can be applied to his own person, if not to others."

"Oh." Jane says distantly. Again, she swallows, her throat suddenly dry.

"He must have let the glamour drop while he was sleeping and not realized it was not in place when he woke, if you saw…" Thor begins to explain before trailing off.

"What… I mean, what happened… to him?" She hears herself ask, realizing a moment later that she wishes she hadn't, that she doesn't know how Thor will react.

She sees his entire frame tense hard, and suddenly she's afraid.

"Many things." He replies, and she remembers Loki's words matching those from last night. "Loki is oft one to find for himself trouble. He has many enemies. Many beings who wish him harm." Thor pauses, glancing away, towards the tents flap. "There are those times when those who do have found him in their possession." He looks back, face as hard and serious as Jane has ever seen it. "Rarely have they hesitated to take advantage of their position then, and his." He finishes, and Jane feels sick.

Thor's eyes go distant then with memory.

"There is a myth, in your Realms legends, of my brother transforming into a falcon and being captured and held prisoner by a giant for three months, locked away in a tiny box."

Jane blinks. She hasn't heard of the story, but she hasn't read much on Loki at all, she realizes, having relegated her research mostly to Thor.

"The story is true." Thor says. "Only the details are incorrect. It was not three months, but three years he was held captive. None of us in Asgard thought a thing of it. Three years may for you mortals seem a long time, but for us, it is but an instant. And we knew Loki was on a quest. It is not unusual for such things to last years at a time. And though Loki can and often does shape shift, he was not a bird when the kidnapping occurred."

Jane can't quite keep the look of shock from her eyes at the revelation, but otherwise remains quiet.

"He was himself, and locked away in a small container, that much is accurate."

The thunder god's eyes drift to the floor, his hand around hers tightening minutely.

"The giant starved Loki." He goes on, voice almost a whisper now. "My brother had no food in all that time. No water. As gods, we need no sustenance to live. But still, we feel the pangs of hunger and thirst, and still, our bodies are affected by the lack of these things." He looks up at her, and she sees his eyes are wet with unshed tears. "Eventually, Loki was able to escape by fooling the giant, promising him he would lure me to him without the aid of my hammer. A trade, one Prince for another."

Jane's mouth falls open in shocked dismay, and Thor smiles wryly.

"He lied, of course." Thor says. "The giant released him to go and bring me to him. It took Loki another two weeks to make his way back to the city. He was wearing a glamour to hide the state of him from Asgard's people, and did not let it drop until he was within my chambers in the palace. I still do not know how he made it far as he did on foot. His magic was near depleted at that point, and he was unable to teleport. I recall him collapsing almost immediately within the door to my sleeping quarters, and me running to him. By the Norns, I still remember the sight of him. He was so wasted away. He looked as nothing more than a bag of ruined bones."

Thor's expression contorts in obvious agony at the memory, and for a moment, he has to pause, turning away from her and bringing his hand to cover his eyes.

"He told me what had happened," he finally begins again after a moment, hand dropping, voice wavering slightly. "barely able to hold to consciousness, and of the bargain he had made with the giant."

Thor's eyes slide away again.

"It cost Loki what little reputation he had then, of being a man of trustworthy nature, telling me of it and going back on his word to the giant."

"What?" Jane asks, confused. "You mean, people held that against him?"

Thor nods.

"Aye." He replies quietly. "A man's word is considered sacred among my people. To go back on it, no matter the circumstances, is thought unforgivable. Loki suffered much mockery and ridicule for sparing me the giant's wrath. And only a rare few have given his word any value since."

"That's…" Jane's voice comes out a troubled whisper. "That's horrible. I can't believe… How could they do that? When all he was trying to do was save your life?!"

Thor smiles bitterly.

"They justified it to themselves by saying it was Loki's own fault for allowing himself to be captured by a giant in the first place." He shakes his head. "He did end up leading me to the creature, under my urging, and I slew the fiend for him, of course. But it took many months for Loki to recover physically from what was done to him, and in all that time, not once did he allow his condition to be seen or known to anyone save myself and our… our mother."

He looks away, swallowing.

"Loki has ever been expert in secreting the evidence of his suffering." He says. "Therein lies the point of me telling you this, I suppose. And I… I suppose it is why for so long I never realized there was anything wrong with him. Why I could not see the discontent within him."

He shakes his head then, glancing back to her.

"But no, that is not true. It was… it was my failing as a brother to him. As the one who was meant to protect him. I should have seen. I should have known."

"Thor," Jane starts. "no. Don't say that. You can't blame yourself. I know you were a good brother. I know it."

Thor smiles sadly at her then, once more shaking his head.

"You are kind to say so Jane." He says. "But, there are things… so many things that have happened between Loki and I which I hold in shame now. Ways in which I have hurt him, which I fear may never be forgiven."

He lifts a broad hand, wiping at his eyes, and it scares Jane, how lost he looks then.

It seems not right. That one so powerful and sure should be so helpless.

She is about to protest again, to try and reassure him, when suddenly the tent's flap pulls back, and there Loki is.

He says nothing, does not even seem to notice them as he begins moving about, gathering various things which Jane assumes are his, books mostly. Jane hadn't even noticed them before, and she wonders where they came from. Surely they couldn't have fit into the small pouch Loki wears on his belt.

As if in reply to her puzzlement, the mischief god makes some intricate movement with his hands, and in an instant, the books he's holding vanish into seemingly thin air.

Jane gapes, unable to help herself.

And then Loki turns to them. If he notices her astonishment, he gives no indication, simply saying,

"We should be leaving soon."

And as quickly as he came, he's gone.

Both Jane and Thor are quiet then, readying themselves for the day, not another word said of what they'd spoken before.

/

In three days more of travel, they have been attacked four times, and each of those times, Loki has dispersed the danger before it ever really even had a chance to mount.

He seemed always to know before any enemies were even visible that they were there and from where they came, and he would kill them with such brutal efficiency, so quickly, that it was rare Thor ever even had a chance to take aim at any of them and win himself a victory.

Jane thinks she's seen enough violence in the last week to last her ten lifetimes, and she knows with growing dread that the real battles haven't even begun.

Loki seems driven to her, the way he has been pushing their travel, the way he has been engaging those who try to stop them with such uncompromising ferocity.

She's barely seen him rest. Only seen him eat a few, spare times, and only ever the most minimal amount.

She finds herself wondering how he maintains such a high expenditure of energy each day when he seems to take so little care of himself. And then she remembers what he is… an alien… or a god… she doesn't know. She questions if there's even any difference.

Thor has told her Loki is actually from a race of giants, Jotnar, they're called, born of snow and ice. And suddenly Loki's comment to her, about Frost Giants not feeling the cold makes more sense.

But Loki is smaller than Thor by a considerable amount, very clearly, and when she questioned him on it, he had told her that his brother was a runt, considered deformed and undesirable by a race which above all else values physical strength and prowess.

It was how, Thor explained, Loki ended up adopted by his family, how he was brought to Asgard and made a Prince of the Realm. He had been abandoned by his birth parents, left to die in the brutal cold of his home world, regarded as worthless, and a blight upon the Royal House of Laufey, Jotunheim's former King.

And only in the last two years had Loki found all of this out.

Jane had asked why it was kept from him. She didn't understand why a parent would keep something like that from their child, and Thor had told her their mother and father were only trying to protect Loki. Frost Giants were hated on Asgard, viciously. He told her if it had been known, Loki's life would have not only been utterly miserable, but he would have been in grave danger from the very people he ruled over as Prince.

Loki had anyway been singled out and bullied for being different, he said, for not fitting in. If it had been known he was Jotun, it only would have been worse.

Still, Jane didn't understand.

She didn't understand why they couldn't have told just Loki, let him know the truth, instead of growing up in a culture which taught him to despise his own race.

She wondered what they had thought would happen if and when he did find out.

As much as she was hesitant to admit it, she was beginning to understand why Loki was the way he was.

It didn't excuse all he had done. Not by a long shot.

But she understood, and it made sense.

In a way, even, she felt sorry for him. Though she wasn't about to say so, if the way she'd seen him react to pity was any indication of what she could expect.

What she had a more difficult time understanding was Loki's apparent contempt towards Thor.

Thor kept mentioning wrongs done to Loki on his part, ones he'd only just realized, but he wouldn't specify.

And from the stories he'd been sharing with her recently, Loki had once been so loyal a brother, he'd sacrificed his own reputation for Thor's sake, in a world where apparently reputation was everything.

But he now spoke with such venomous rage and vitriol against and to Thor, insulting him, it seemed, every chance he got.

It left Jane confused, and upset, to think that two people who had once been so close could grow so far apart.

They've finally settled in for the night, having set up camp, and for the last half hour, have all been sitting around the fire in relative silence, only Thor occasionally speaking to Jane.

Jane doesn't think either Thor or Loki have spoken more than a handful of words to each other all day today.

She supposes it's better than the fights they've been having periodically throughout this entire venture.

Finally, Thor announces that he's going to bed for the night, and as he stands, he holds his hand out for Jane, assuming she'll want to come with him.

"Actually Thor," she starts. "I was thinking of staying up a while longer out here, if that's okay."

Thor looks at her, expression befuddled, brow furrowing in clear concern.

She sees his eyes flick to Loki, and then back to her.

Loki says nothing. Doesn't even seem to have heard Jane, his attention focused on a book in his hands.

"Are you sure Jane?" Thor asks, uneasy.

She nods, trying to smile reassuringly at him.

"Yeah." She says. "I won't be long, promise. I could just use a little more fresh air."

Thor hardly looks convinced, glancing once more to Loki. She can see the threat in the thunder god's eyes, the warning to his brother that should he try anything, he would only regret it.

Jane doesn't know if Loki even notices, his face still turned down.

Until at last Thor looks to her once more, sighing and nodding.

"Very well." He says, bending to place a soft kiss atop her head.

He gives her shoulder a light squeeze before straightening, whispering quietly against her ear…

"Do not tarry too long. I shall miss your warmth."

She smiles up at him, squeezing his hand back, nodding.

And finally he departs, Jane watching him as he disappears into the tent.

Silence reigns.

Only the sound of the fire crackling fills the air between her and Loki, and the occasional sound of animals, somewhere in the distance of the surrounding woods.

Jane would be frightened by it, if there weren't a god sitting four feet across from her.

Loki for his part hasn't once looked up from the pages of his book, turning them every second, and Jane realizes with a start that he can speed read.

Well, of course.

She would call the silence awkward, if she thought Loki felt anything of it. But he doesn't seem to.

She is about to open her mouth, to say something, beginning to question her decision to stay out here alone with him, when the sound of his own voice cuts her off.

"There are very few maidens who would ever possess the temerity to send the Crown Prince of Asgard to bed alone."

Jane looks up at him, confused.

"Excuse me?" She asks, not understanding.

And finally, the mischief god raises his eyes, and he's smirking at her, nodding in the direction of the tent.

"What you did just now would be considered a great insult in Asgard, the mighty Thor's chosen mate, refusing his will and want. And from a mortal, no less."

Loki's tone sounds absolutely scandalized, and Jane's eyes widen.

"What?!" She starts. "No, that's… I didn't mean to…"

Her burgeoning panic is cut short by his laughter, and she pauses, taken aback by the sound.

At the pleasantness of it.

Nothing at all like the mocking laughter she's heard from him before.

This holds only genuine, even good natured mirth.

And his eyes seem to sparkle bright with it, shining. And she's struck once more by how very young he seems.

"Fear not, Ms. Foster." He says. "Thor could do with the lesson in humility. He so rarely has had to face it." He bows his head to her, as though in reverence. "You have in this instance my admiration."

Jane blinks.

She doesn't know how to respond to that.

Loki makes it so she doesn't have to.

"But truly," he says. "you should retire for the night. We have perhaps another half day of travel before we reach the city, and there will be little enough time for rest from that point forward."

Again, Jane blinks, unsure what to make of Loki's sudden talkativeness, or the bizarrely friendly tone he's taking.

Finally, she's able to pull her thoughts together, clearing her throat somewhat nervously.

"Yeah, I… I suppose." She mutters quietly.

Another moment passes.

"It's been pretty rough out here, I guess." She adds absently, without really thinking, eyes shifting away.

Loki nods.

"Indeed." He says. "You have endured remarkably well, considering."

Her eyes snap back to him, narrowing.

Why the hell is he being so nice?

She sees his eyes travel up to the night sky, gazing upon it for long, quiet moments.

And then he sighs.

"Svartalfheim is such an ugly Realm." He says, gaze dropping back to her. He smiles thinly. "Now Alfheim, land of the Light Elves, that is a place you should see. They say Asgard is the most beautiful of Realms, but Alfheim, I believe, has a beauty beyond measure. And there is no race of greater magical abundance. They are, of all the Nine's beings, perhaps the closest to Yggdrisal herself."

Jane's eyes widen in wonderment. She swallows, trying to envision what such a place looks like.

"You've… you've been there?" She asks.

"I have been to all the Nine Realms, many times over." He answers swiftly. "And many places beyond."

"You don't need the Bifrost." Jane says, not a question. The realization suddenly hitting her, and all it could mean.

He shakes his head in response anyway.

What seems a million questions pop into her mind, and she wants to ask them all. About how he does it, if it's something he could teach others to do, if he would know how to build a machine to duplicate the ability

Somehow, she keeps them to herself.

Instead, she says…

"We've been doing all this walking. Since you got your magic back, couldn't you have just… I don't know, just…"

She waves her hands, unsure of the proper term.

"Teleported us to the city and saved you the burden of your aching muscles?" Loki supplies for her.

She stares a moment, and then nods.

"Yeah." She says sheepishly.

Loki smiles, and shrugs lightly, closing his book.

"I could have." He says. "But to carry both you and Thor and then myself would have left my power greatly drained, and have taken nearly a full, rested day to recover it. I cannot afford to go into battle against the enemy we face with my energy so depleted. It will take enough of a toll on me, opening the portal for Asgard's forces once we arrive."

"But," Jane begins, still not quite comprehending. "Really? I mean, you've been taking out these guys attacking us pretty easily. I thought…"

Loki chuckles, cutting her off.

"It is not the same." He says. "The Elves we have been facing, while possessed of magic, are not of great strength in it, and wield what little amount they do have clumsily. Malekith is a creature of an entirely different sort."

He leans back, regarding Jane closely a moment.

She stares back, both curious and with apprehension filling her gut.

"There are very few beings in the Nine Realms of significant magical energy. Fewer still who maintain any sort of mastery over that energy. Malekith the Accursed is one such being."

Jane hesitates, feeling her apprehension grow at the seriousness of Loki's tone.

"And you've… you've faced him before?" She finally manages to ask.

And Loki smiles almost sardonically.

"In a manner of speaking." He says. "I have little doubt Thor has shared with you a tale of glory and honor, if not to spare me, then to spare him and his father the embarrassment of the truth."

Jane's expression grows confused.

"I'm sorry?" She asks. "I'm not…" her head shakes. "I don't understand."

"Malekith once captured me." Loki answers without hesitation. "And tortured me."

Finally his eyes slide away from hers.

"This was many centuries ago, when I was barely more than a child. And though my sedir was great…"

Jane sees Loki's hands clench to fists in his lap.

"greater than his," he goes on finally, calm voice belying the tension in his frame. "he was far older, and far more experienced, his control over his energy well surpassing my own at the time."

He looks back to her at last, expression eerily blank.

"He understood how to suppress my power and keep me helpless. And he took full advantage of the fact."

Once more, he glances away.

"Only through sheer force of will did I manage to escape his hold."

He shakes his head.

"But the encounter was his great folly. For it spurred me on only to train harder. To better hone and refine my skills."

Jane sees he is clenching his hands so hard now, his knuckles are turning white.

"And it will be his downfall now."

He falls silent then, and for a long moment, Jane says nothing.

She can see the rage boiling through him, held down and quiet, and somehow, it frightens her as much as when he had come at her with threats on his tongue and violence in his movements.

"… What did he do to you?" She asks in a whisper, only realizing a moment after that she'd spoken the question aloud, eyes widening slightly in trepidation at his reaction.

She expects for him to explode, to yell at her and threaten her again for daring to ask.

But he only sits there, silent a long while, face turned away.

And then she hears him speak, voice so soft, she almost doesn't hear.

"… He stole away my hope."

And he says nothing more after that, until the fire has dwindled nearly to nothing, and he looks back at her, at last, his handsome features barely visibly in the dark.

"Get some rest, Ms. Foster." He tells her. "Tomorrow, our journey ends."

And Jane nods, giving no protest as she makes her way back into the tent, not bothering to ask if he'll be coming to bed too. She knows he won't.

She lays awake a long time afterwards, thinking about what he said. Trying to understand what he meant.

When she does, she feels her heart break.


	8. Chapter 8

It is as Loki had said it would be.

Within half the day gone, they had arrived, some five miles outside the city, and Loki had opened the portal, Asgard's amassed forces stepping through, gathering in the kind of ordered assemblage which spoke to the culture they were born to and raised in. Warriors, all of them, needing no heed, no order from their commanders to take up position, no incentive beyond the desire to protect their home world.

Thousands upon thousands of them.

It took hours for them to come through, Loki tasked with and having to hold the way open for all of that time, knelt in unfathomable concentration, head bowed and form unnaturally still, only the trickles of sweat which slid cross his brow and temples to indicate the strain. All knew to leave him be, to not disturb his focus, lest he falter, and the portal close, trapping however many hundred were inside, lost to the void forever.

And when it was done, when the forces had made it through, all of them, stood and ready for their command, Thor, and another god by the name Tyr, took to the leads, and roused their men and women into anticipatory readiness and desire, impatience, even, to bring themselves to the field of battle and shed blood in the name of their people and king.

"FOR ASGARD!" Thor had cried, raising his hammer high above his head, voice ringing out like thunder across the plains.

"FOR ASGARD!" The army had pledged back, and Jane had known, across the distance still separating them, the Dark Elves must have heard.

Through it all, Loki had stood back, away from the rest, eyes fixed upon some point in the distance. He hadn't joined in the throng of soldiers, hadn't taken a place up front with his brother, as any sort of leader or head. And no one looked to him, no one addressed him as such either.

And when they had began to march, Loki had disappeared, to where, Jane was unable to follow, beside Thor as she was, under his protection.

She hadn't known what would become of her once they reached the wall of the city, the question finally answered when they did, and veritable chaos had broken.

Jane thinks, even now, to that point she had never known fear like she did then, not even when the Dark Elves had descended upon Asgard and lain waste.

And still, Jane wonders at how it was she wasn't killed within those first, few moments, with the violence and fury and hell which had exploded around her.

She had been sure then and there she was finished.

And then Thor had been dragging her by her arm, screaming something to her, her unable to make out the words for the cacophony of sound around them, pulling her into some building and telling her to stay and not emerge under any circumstances, promising she would be safe there.

Jane hadn't been able to get a word out to him then before he was gone, disappearing through the entrance, back into the fray.

It had been a temple of worship he'd left her in, and Jane remembers never feeling more alone in her life, more abandoned. The sounds of death and hatred and cruelty filling the air from outside, its muted impact reaching her inside.

For hours, she still doesn't know how many, she'd stayed in that place, the battle outside never seeming to cease, never waning.

So many thoughts had run through her mind then. Questions of what if. What if Thor was killed? What if the armies of Asgard lost? What would become of her then? Would the Elves kill her? Rape her?

She had worked herself into a fever pitch of frenzy and fear, unable to hold still, to calm herself down. Several times, she had contemplated leaving the place, going out and doing… she didn't know what. Something, anything but the horrible waiting, left with nothing but imagined scenarios of her mind.

And then the fear she had thought would be the worst of her life was eclipsed as nothing, when finally it was something had happened. When the doors to that place of supposed sanctuary had been blasted open, and the one being she had hoped never to see, never to face again, came rushing inside.

Malekith.

He had come at her like a demon out of hell itself, covered half in blood and face twisted in a mask of such fury and rage, Jane had felt her own heart stutter to a frozen paralysis, before beginning to beat painfully rapid against her ribcage.

What had happened after that, Jane still isn't sure.

Isn't sure she ever wants to really know.

She had been taken, by some unseen force.

Malekith had gestured out towards her, hand raised palm up, and some strength indescribable had taken hold of her limbs, and without warning, without logic, she had been lifted into the air. And a crushing, suffocating darkness had swept through her insides.

She calls it darkness, for there is no other word she thinks to adequately say what it was.

It had felt as though she was losing a grip on herself, she remembers. As though who she was, what she was, had been falling away into nothingness, and whatever power held her had begun to seep in and take over, undoing what pitiful resistance her own consciousness offered.

She remembers the world around going black. Light dimming until there seemed only shadow, and a rage of noise filling her ears, so that nothing but deafening screams and howling wind seemed to encompass her mind.

She had tried struggling, she recalls dimly. Trying to pull physically free. But she had been frozen and unable to move. Like the state between waking and sleep, when your mind is conscious, but your body is not. And you can't move, you can't speak or scream or cry out for help.

Thor had come rushing in.

She remembers that.

But he had been nothing more than a form to her. A shape recognized, but none of his details, none of what made him there for her to see, or touch, or hear.

She remembers him falling to his knees, and some kind of unintelligible bellow ripping through the air. If it had been him, she doesn't know, and supposes she never will.

And she remembers thinking, as the darkness swallowed her, and consumed her, and robbed her of all that she was, she remembered thinking…

"I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die…"

And then there had been light.

The brightest, most blinding light, searing through the darkness filling her eyes, disintegrating it to nothing. An explosion of green and white and gold.

And a voice, breaking and cutting through the ceaseless and deafening wind in her ears, sharp and clear as day, deep and rich and speaking a language she had never before heard in her life.

And then she was falling, a gasp tearing from her closed off throat, loud and desperate and longing.

And when at last she had managed to lift her eyes, she had seen him there.

Loki.

Standing at the room's center, drenched in blood, sword dropped by his side, thick with red the same, hands outstretched, wisps of sparking, tingling light at the tips of his long, thin fingers. Green and gold and white. Steam seeming to rise up off it.

And his eyes…

God, she still remembers his eyes.

Blazing green light, pupils no longer remotely visible, glowing in the dimness of the temple, bright as the sun.

She had had to look away then, the brightness painful to her own sight.

And then she had heard, at last, the darkness in her ebbing and subsiding, and she recalls Malekith uttering, low and horrified…

"No. Not you…"

She had seen him begin to motion, to lift his hands in some gesture from the periphery of her vision, and then, from across them, a scream of such hatred, just thinking of it now causes her blood to run cold.

It had been Loki, crying out in defiance, and before Malekith had so much as completed his motions, a wave of concussive, crushing force had thrown the Elf back off his feet, landing him hard on his back, and Jane remembers, in an instant, Loki advancing, so fast, her eyes hadn't properly been able to follow the motion.

She knows only that she had scrambled back and away, utter fear taking over her insides at the knowledge that her way, something powerful beyond comprehension came.

It hadn't lasted long.

Loki had gestured forward, raising his hand up and bringing it down in a violent, slicing motion, and the Dark Elf leader had been lifted and crushed to the floor once again.

And then he had been frozen, somehow, unable to move a single limb, trapped against the ground.

He had begun to chant, to speak some language, voice hitched and desperate and sloppy in its hast. But whatever it was he had been trying to do, it hadn't been fast enough.

Nothing had been fast enough.

For the trickster god was on him in an instant, blowing past Jane and taking no heed of her, like he hadn't even known she was there. And Jane remembers watching in wide eyed horror as Loki had fallen upon the splayed Elf, straddling him. And she can see in her mind now, the way Loki had held his hand, palm faced down, above Malekith's lips, and then squeezed it, into a trembling fist, and the way the Elf's voice had suddenly cut off into nothing, disappearing like it had never existed.

And Jane had realized with a start that Loki had done something to steal the Elf's voice. He'd somehow taken it away completely.

She still can recall the unmitigated terror which had filled Malekith's eyes then, as Loki had born down on him, and her own, disbelieving fear as a gleaming dagger had formed suddenly in the god's left hand, brilliant and sharp, some foot and a half in length.

And the way, oh Christ, the way Loki's free hand had come down over Malekith's face, spreading over and crushing, covering his eyes and nose and mouth, and how he'd brought the blade, glowing bright with some unnatural, green fire, to the Elf's throat.

Malekith had been helpless, unable to move, to even scream.

Loki had leaned down against him then, she remembers, brought his lips to the Elf's left ear, and spoken something none other could hear.

And then he'd sliced Malekith's throat.

And there had been so much blood.

Dark blue as it oozed sickeningly thick from the gapping wound left by the glowing dagger, pooling out wide and ceaseless onto the stone floor.

He had stood then, Loki, and stepped back, eyes wide and expressionless on the dying form of the Dark Elf leader, watching, watching, until the struggling throws of death had at last relented, and the body had grown still as a stone.

He had turned then, Jane still sees it so clearly, and walked away, slow and seemingly aimless, past her, past Thor, who's own expression was wide with disbelief and shock.

Loki had bent, listlessly lifting his dropped sword from the ground, and both she and Thor had watched, as the second Prince had wandered away, back out into the field of battle.

A moment of stunned silence had past, before at once, Thor had made it to his feet and run to her, embracing her and crushing her against him, sobbing openly, saying over and over how sorry he was.

But Jane hadn't really heard him.

Hadn't really felt anything.

Only the thoughts repeating themselves in her brain, again and again.

Thor had left her there, alone.

Thor had left her.

And then Loki had come.

It had been Loki who saved her.

Loki who had saved all of them.

The battle hadn't lasted long afterwards.

With their leader slain, the Dark Elves had been left without direction, falling into chaos, and Asgard's forces were able to make quick work of what had remained of them.

No small portion, Jane would learn later from Thor, had been single handedly taken out by Loki's hand alone.

But that night, returned to Asgard at last after a long and arduous journey back, in the feast halls of the city's shining palace, amidst the rabble and celebration of the Realms great victory over the Dark World, there was scarce a mention of the still disgraced younger Prince.

None made mention of Loki's contribution. None spoke a word of Loki's magic, and how through him alone, Asgard's warriors had been able to make it to Svalterheim. How it had been his plan of attack, to bring the Aesir forces to the very borders of their enemies city stronghold, taking them by surprise as they had done to Asgard not a week earlier. How it had been Loki's own hand which had slain their leader and left the piteous remains of the Dark Elves army in disarray.

None spoke a word, even as they spoke of their own bravery and glory in battle.

And Jane feels sick at the self-aggrandizing and purposeful omissions of the truth.

She doesn't know where Loki has gone.

He isn't a part of this, what she can only consider a mockery of celebration

She had seen him only once since their return.

When Frigga's body had been lain to rest, sent out on a flaming longboat, into the seas surrounding Asgard.

There had been thousands of Aesir gathered along the shores, paying their respects to their beloved and honored Queen.

And Jane had spotted Loki, as always, removed from the rest, stood alone atop a hill of trees, some several hundred yards from the shores.

He had been leaned against one of those trees, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed out on the burning ship, unmoving, face blank and emotionless.

She had seen him for only a moment, turning to look again at the boat, shrinking away into the distance. And when she had turned back to where he was stood, he had been gone.

After that, the "feast" had commenced, supposedly both in honor of the victory and in honor of the Queen.

Odin still sat, immobile, in his sleep. No one, it seemed, knew when he would wake, and as such, Thor was currently Asgard's acting King. And Jane sits beside him now at the long table, piled high with such a ridiculous amount of food, it's impossible to imagine it all ever being consumed, yet if the servants constantly replacing platters and treys is any indication, apparently not such an implausibility after all.

Thor is morbid and sullen beside her, and amidst all this, that at least is appropriate. He has just sent his mother to the heavens, Valhalla, they call it, where those who died an honorable death go, or so Jane is told.

Throughout the entire thing, he has constantly been trying to catch her eye, or her attention in some way, sending her sad, withdrawn half smiles, as though he is uncertain of himself and how he should be around her.

It suits him ill, this lack of confidence.

And Jane finds herself equally confused about how she should feel about him.

She thinks it's ridiculous, to be angry. He didn't mean for her to get caught up in Malekith's attack. Didn't mean for her to almost die.

She tells herself he was just trying to protect her by bringing her along.

But then, Loki's words keep echoing in her memory, the mischief god telling his older brother that it was foolish, that she would be attacked and used against him, that she would be killed.

All of those things had happened, save the last, and only because Loki himself had intervened.

Why, she still doesn't know, though she's turned the possible reasons over and over in her head since, until she thought she might go made from it all.

Logically, it seems, he did so only because he was there to kill Malekith, and she just happened to be in the way. Something he had to take care of before he could get down to business.

That seemed most likely too, given how he'd utterly ignored her presence afterwards, like he hadn't even noticed her there.

Still…

He'd saved her too, that time before, when that other Elf had been ready to bring an ax down on her skull.

He hadn't needed to then either.

She supposes it's only some strange wistful thinking on her part, trying to attribute humanity to a man she's begun more and more to feel a kind of muted sympathy for, probably as a means to justify that sympathy. Like she won't feel so bad about it, if she can convince herself Loki isn't some complete monster.

Some of the things Loki's done, the way he's acted and spoken towards her, none of it she would associate with her definition of the word.

But then, Loki is impossible to read, and she's found it utterly hopeless, trying to discern his motivations. Whether there was any kind of ulterior motive behind his kinder actions, or if he did them for the simple act of it.

If there is some other reason, she has yet to see it play out.

She realizes in that moment, abruptly, that she still has his cloak. That she'd never given it back to him, somehow.

She'd left it, that night in her rooms, or rather, the rooms that have been given to her to stay in, here in the palace. She hadn't even thought about it

She wonders, suddenly, if Loki will want it back. Surely, she thinks, he must.

But she doesn't know where he is, and somehow, she doesn't think seeking him out purposefully is the best of ideas.

After everything…

After seeing what he did to Malekith…

The expression in his eyes, and the way he'd gone so totally silent afterwards, not speaking a word to her, to anyone on the way back…

Disappearing the way he had after the funeral…

She doubts he wants to be found.

But she doesn't think she can stand another minute of being here either, and abruptly, she finds herself pushing back in her seat, the effort considerable given the weight of the chair. Eventually, she's able to move away from the table and stand, and Thor turns, looking up at her, a confused frown across his features.

"Jane?" He asks, and she shakes her head, exhaling heavily through her nose.

"I think I'm going to go to bed Thor." She says, glancing at him.

The concern in his eyes doesn't lessen, and he reaches up, placing a hand gently upon her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Is all well?" He asks.

Lying to Thor, she thinks, would have been more difficult before, he is so earnest and sincere himself.

But now she can't work up the energy to care, and she simply nods.

"Yeah, I'm just a little tired, is all."

He nods in return, standing then.

"I would retire with you, but…" he glances about. "my presence here is required a few hours more."

"I know." She says, smiling weakly. "It's okay."

"Do you need for me to guide you back to your rooms?" He asks, and she shakes her head.

"No, I'll be alright." She assures.

He studies her a long moment, gaze scrutinizing, and she realizes he doesn't for a minute believe her.

Thor isn't nearly as stupid as initial impressions would lead one to believe.

And, she supposes, growing up with Loki at your side would teach you a thing or two about deceit, and how to detect it in others.

But he nods anyway, and lets her go, and for that, she feels entirely too grateful.

Once outside the dining hall, the doors closing shut behind her with a muted bang, she sighs a breath of relief.

She hadn't realized just how truly stifling it was in there until she was free of it.

And so for a moment, she just stands, considering.

She thinks she could actually go to her rooms to sleep for the night.

But she's incredibly restless, in truth, her mind buzzing and whirring, and she knows she'll just end up lying there, unable to stop thinking. And there's nothing she hates more than that. The places her mind tends to take her when she has nothing to distract her from her thoughts.

So she opts on roaming the seemingly endless halls of the palace, knowing logically she'll likely become lost doing so.

But it hardly matters.

There's so many of those stone still guards around the place, stationed along the hallways and room entries. She's sure she can just ask one of them for directions, if it comes to that.

The passageways are dimly lit as she moves along, just shy of being dark, illuminated every twenty paces or so by stone sconces positioned along the walls, flickering, orange flame lighted within each.

She isn't sure for how long she walks, thirty, forty minutes perhaps, until eventually, her feet lead her to the outside, realizing it with a start as the fresh, cool night air hits her face, and she blinks, looking around in a daze.

She's in a garden, of some sort.

Though, she thinks, as her focus readjusts from the fog it had wandered into, garden might be selling the place short.

She's never seen such a sprawling array of different plants and flowers, all intensely exotic and foreign to her eyes, and so beautifully lain out and designed, she thinks instantly it puts the finest botanicals on Earth to shame.

It's like stepping into something out of a fairytale, some enchanted place of magic. And as her thoughts catch up to her, she realizes with a start, in this place, the idea isn't even remotely far fetched.

There is a pulse, an energy humming through the air here. She can feel it, palpably.

And there is such a variety of scents she becomes abruptly aware of. Seemingly hundreds of them, one taking over her senses before giving way to yet another, just as powerful and consuming.

Without thought, without hesitation, she steps farther in, and a kind of strange, even soothing calm comes over her. A feeling of inexplicable warmth and safety, the deeper in she moves.

She becomes lost in this place, the outside world fading from her consciousness as she bends, smelling and examining the ceaseless variety of plant life which surrounds her, taken completely with the stunning beauty of it all.

And so entranced by it is she, she barely registers the soft noise which drifts and finds its way to her ears, realization of it hitting only after several seconds, and she straightens, going still.

And there it is again.

Faint, and barely heard, but she swears it is the sound of someone crying.

Suddenly, her awareness comes crashing back to her in sharp relief, and she keeps herself motionless, listening. And there again.

Definitely, someone crying.

Jane swallows, unsure at first what to do.

She thinks maybe she should leave. If there's someone here, they probably want to be left alone. Probably came here because they thought no one would find them and bother them.

But the closer she listens, the clearer the sound becomes, and she is suddenly all too conscious of the fact it sounds like a man crying. Not a woman or child.

And curiosity takes over.

She swallows again, thickly, before daring to move, stepping as quietly as she can forward, towards the sound, making certain not to make any noise.

And as she rounds the corner, peering cautiously ahead, her eyes go wide in absolute shock at what she sees.

She barely manages to catch the startled gasp which tries to force its way up her throat, clamping her hands quickly over her mouth.

It's Loki.

There ahead of her, maybe some ten feet, sat on his knees with his back to her, head bowed at the foot of a large ash tree.

She sees his shoulders trembling, his hands pressed flat against the ground, fingers curling into the dirt, and a chocked sound escapes him, something terrifyingly close to a sob.

And Jane doesn't think she's ever heard anything more awful.

"I am sorry…"

She's startled suddenly by the sound of the god's voice, low and thick with tears.

But it's clear he isn't talking to her. That he doesn't even know she's there.

And that leaves a whole new level of unease spreading through her.

"I thought…" he goes on, and Jane finds herself paralyzed, frozen to the spot and transfixed on him, and the sound of his voice. "Mother, I thought..."

He shakes his head, as though frustrated, and Jane sees him reach up, a pale, thin hand, resting it against the trunk of the tree.

"I killed him Mother." He says. "I killed him, and I was certain… I thought perhaps…"

Again, he shakes his head.

"But it changes nothing. It…" another, stifled sob. "It doesn't bring you back. It doesn't change what he did. What he…"

Abruptly, Loki stiffens, and suddenly, he is straightening, sitting up ramrod, stilling instantly.

Jane freezes, feeling her heart beat rapid, and her stomach flip in unexpected fear.

And when Loki turns, his brilliantly bright gaze piercing her over his shoulder, eyes so unnaturally green, she is sure for a horrifying moment she might actually faint.

And then Loki is standing, to his feet so quickly, she doesn't even realize he's moved until he's turned fully and facing her. His hand lifts, face turning away, and she sees him wipe viciously at his eyes.

But still, she can see them rimmed red, and the remains of tears, dried down his cheeks.

His features twist in hardened rage, and involuntarily, Jane takes a step back, her fear increasing tenfold.

"What are you doing here!?" He asks, voice lost of its usual richness, replaced by a graveled hiss.

Jane's eyes are wide in her face, and for a moment, her mouth goes dry, her lips falling open with nothing upon them.

Loki takes a step towards her, and Jane stumbles, falling back, her feet tripping out from beneath her and throwing her to the ground.

Instinctively, her arms raise up over her head, face turning away.

"I'm sorry." She cries. "I'm sorry!"

She expects violence. Expects any moment to feel his impossibly powerful grip take hold of her and crush her bones to dust.

She expects pain.

Instead there is nothing.

Moment pass without action. Without sound.

Until, finally, Jane's arms begin to lower, and she dares to gaze up.

Loki is there still, staring down at her.

His face is still hard, lines etched into his otherwise fine, young features.

But whatever heated anger had lighted his eyes before, it's gone now, replaced with something she can't name.

Something almost lost.

He stares back at her, unmoving, until, finally, he blinks, a single tear escaping with the action, slipping down his cheek. It's as if he's coming out of some transfixed state, and he steps back, eyes still on her, confused now.

She exhales, the air leaving her in a loud rush, only realizing in that moment she'd been holding her breath.

And the words come pouring out of her of their own volition, it seems.

"I didn't mean… I mean, it was an accident. I was just… I was walking around the… uh… the castle, I mean, palace! The palace, I was taking a walk and I just, I wandered out here and… I didn't mean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you or…"

Loki straightens, his focus on her seeming to wane as he looks off past her, somewhere behind.

"You should not be here." He says softly.

And Jane nods almost thoughtlessly.

"You're right. I shouldn't. I'll just… I'm sorry. I'll just go."

She's scrambling to her feet, ready to bolt, to forget the whole thing, try to forget the sight and the sound of someone she'd been convinced was a sociopath crying and talking to his mother who'd been gone nearly two weeks. Telling her he was sorry.

Try to forget…

She's turning to go when his voice stops her, so quiet, it's nearly lost on the wind.

"This was her garden." He says.

And Jane stops.

She turns back to face him when he says nothing else, and sees he's moved back towards the tree, staring up into its branches.

She hadn't heard him shift even.

She swallows, unsure what to do. If she should remain, or leave as she'd been about to.

His continued words make the decision for her, though it sounds as though he speaks to himself more than to anyone else.

"It was here I would frequent as a child." He says. "Here, and the palace library."

He pauses a moment, his head bowing, hands reaching out, palms pressed against the trunk of the tree again.

"Here I would find asylum… from the more…" He laughs softly to himself, the sound still unmistakably bitter. "unkind of my peers." He goes on. "And I would sit, at her feet, at my mother's feet, while she lounged along one of the many benches decorating the grounds."

He motions about absently, as if to indicate what he means.

"Or here, under this tree." He continues, and his voice softens even further, almost soundless now. "I would sit with her, here, in this very spot, her arms wrapped around me… sing to me…" He breaths the last words in a whisper.

And Jane watches as his arms come around, like holding someone in an embrace. But there is only empty air, and eventually, his arms drop back down to his sides, limp, and he looks so small to her suddenly.

So weak.

She notices finally what he's wearing. Gone is the regalia of his armor and its added mass. He's dressed now only in a green, seemingly roughly knit tunic, and soft leather breeches, knee high boots to finish it off. That's all.

The contradiction between his appearance and what she knows he's capable of is unsettling.

Bizarre.

Once more he reaches out, touching the tree.

"I will leave here soon." He says gently. "This place. And it will be long, I think… before I ever return again."

And then very suddenly, he straightens, and turns, looking at her intently, almost… inquiringly.

"The life of this garden would never die," he starts. "under the power of Frigga's magic. It would live eternally, as the gods."

He steps towards Jane, but there is no threatening stance now in his approach, and Jane feels no need to step away this time.

"I had wondered if…" he pauses, and so strangely, his eyes flit away from her, to the ground, almost as if he's shy, or embarrassed. But Jane thinks she must be mistaken in her interpretation. There's no way.

"The life here will wither and die, if left on its own, without her seidr." He continues after a moment. And he's still not looking at her.

She sees his hands working, fingers playing intricate patterns through the air at his sides.

"I had wondered if perhaps I should… intervene… in some way. Or simply allow for it to…"

His voice trails off, and Jane thinks she might drown for the sadness she hears in it. The raw, naked sincerity of the emotion.

He turns from her once more, and she sees his hand lift to his face. And he goes still. So completely still.

He says nothing more.

And finally, Jane pulls her eyes from him, gaze moving about the beauty which surrounds her, at the abundance of life and promise and warmth this place holds.

And she thinks what a shame it would be, to let it go. To let it rot away to nothing.

What a shame it would be to her memory.

She looks back to Loki then, and he still hasn't moved.

"I think…" she starts, voice trembling only slightly. She clears her throat, trying to make herself sound stronger. "I think it would do your mother a great honor." She finally says. "If you kept her garden well in her stead."

Seconds pass without reply from the mischief god. Seconds stretching into what seems minutes. And Jane fears abruptly that she's somehow overstepped her bounds. Somehow offended him, and she feels her heart beat harder with the fear of it.

But then she sees him shift, if only minutely. Sees him turn his head to the side, so that his perfect profile is visible over his shoulder. And she sees him nod, a single incline of the head in her direction.

And that's enough.

Jane smiles weakly at him, nodding in return.

And then she turns to leave.

"Goodnight Loki." She says, beginning to move away, not expecting him to reply.

A moment.

"… Goodnight, Ms. Foster."

And there is the strangest lift of weight she feels then.

Like a pressure off of her heart.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Loki is gone.

Jane doesn't know how she knows. She just does.

And when she sees Thor, he tells her the same.

That Heimdall lost sight of him, and he is gone from Asgard. To where, nobody knows.

Jane only nods. And neither of them say anything more of it.

A week later, Jane returns to Earth.

Thor says he wishes he could stay with her, but that with Odin still in his sleep, that Asgard needs him as her acting King, and Jane only smiles weakly and tells him she understands.

Things between them… haven't felt the same since the battle with Malekith.

Neither of them have really acknowledged it. It's just there, sitting like a rift which separates, keeping them apart.

Jane can't explain it, why it's there or how. It seems illogical. But emotions have never been something she's particularly good at navigating, and she thinks whatever short lived affair there had been between her and Thor has perhaps already run its course.

It makes her sad.

She doesn't know when she'll see the thunder god again.

If she ever will…

Without expectation, she thinks suddenly of Loki, and how it is even less likely she shall ever lay eyes on him again.

And the sadness she feels somehow grows, until it feels like a weight, crushing down on her chest.

Until there is a sense of some inconsolable loss.

A part of her life over before she even really knew it was there…

/

Six months later

Jane grits her teeth, entire frame tensing as for what must be the fifth time, an "error" message pops up on her computer screen.

It takes, she thinks, every ounce of her considerable will not to scream in frustration, or smash her keyboard against the adjacent wall.

She's been trying to figure this fucking program out for the last hour and a half, and has gotten exactly no where.

Fucking Stark technology. It disturbs her, just slightly, that a physicist, at the top of her field, and no she doesn't think that's bragging, can have so much difficulty figuring out how to work a computer.

Ever since she landed this job working for SHIELD as head of their inter-dimensional space travel program, she's had nothing but trouble. She'd taken the offer because of the incredible funding that came with it, and the seemingly endless resources. But since then, she's run into so much bureaucratic and political bullshit, she can practically feel herself choking on it, and she very nearly regrets her decision now.

She longs for the solitude and quiet of her tiny little lab in New Mexico, when everything was hers, and no one else could touch it.

Here, in New York, in this locked down skyscraper, she swears, it feels like someone is constantly standing over her shoulder, watching her every move, just waiting to tell her no, she can't do that.

Breathing in through her nose, she rests her face in her hands, thinking now would probably be a good time to take her lunch break, when her cell goes off.

She reaches for it, pressing the call button without checking the caller ID, and bringing to her ear.

"Yeah?" She barks irritably, not really in the mood for talking.

"Jane, holy shit, do you see what's happening, like, right now!?"

Great. Darcy.

Jane closes her eyes, bringing her fingers to her temple and massaging absently.

"Darcy," she breaths in exasperation. "what are you talking about?"

"On the news!" Darcy shouts, practically breaking her ear drum. "Like, right now! This shit's going down LIVE."

Jane rolls her eyes, eyes scanning lazily for the remote control to her office's television, interest only slightly piqued.

"What?" She asks half-heartedly, finally finding the thing buried under a pile of papers, fumbling to turn it over and point it at the TV.

"That psycho little brother of Thor's!" Darcy finally blurts. "Him and the Avengers are facing off, right now, in some… some pastry shop or something! I don't know!"

Jane very nearly drops the remote, eyes going wide.

"What!?" She nearly shouts, finally managing to press the power button. She searches frantically for the nearest news station.

And then everything freezes.

Darcy's still talking in her ear, but Jane doesn't hear a word she's saying, her eyes glued to the TV screen, a news reporters voice over the images.

"… Pastry Shoppe in Downtown Manhattan, the Avengers arriving on the scene some five minutes ago and attempting what appears to be some sort of preventative course of action. Violence has yet to break out but…"

And then the reporter's voice fades to the background too.

Jane can't believe what she's seeing.

Loki, standing in what looks like a bakery shop barely bigger than her office, dressed in some ridiculously expensive looking suit which, she thinks, would look absurd on anyone else, but damn if he doesn't have the body to make it look amazing, standing across from the freakin' Avengers. Like, all of them, save the Hulk and Thor, and thank God for that.

His pose looks casual, as though he's utterly unconcerned by the fact that four super hero's are facing off against him, each with decidedly more hostile body language, clearly ready and maybe even vying for a fight.

There's no sound. This is being filmed from a distance, obviously, but the picture is still clear and close up.

Loki is saying something, pointing it seems to behind the order counter, casual.

The response to him is anything but.

Hawkeye suddenly looses an arrow, and Jane can't help the tiny shriek which escapes her lips before watching as Loki gestures, waving a hand lazily, the arrow dropping in mid flight like a stone to the ground.

She sees his features line in mild displeasure, and he's shaking his head now, saying something else. Hands raising, as though trying to placate.

He isn't attacking.

Iron Man's hands are raised, the repulses glowing white in clear threat.

Loki says something else, and Iron Man lets loose, a blast of pure, white energy.

Loki throws his hands up, and the blast slams against some sort of otherwise invisible barrier, light shimmering and dissipating across its surface.

"He isn't attacking…" Jane mummers to herself.

Another arrow, hitting the same barrier and falling, useless to the ground.

"He isn't attacking!" Jane yells at the screen, hands waving frantically, as though anyone can hear her.

Loki's expression is visibly angry now, but still, he isn't matching their assaults on him, only deflecting. He says something again, and then, suddenly, like something unreal, the wall beside him comes down, breaking away in massive chunks, and he whirls to face the giant, green behemoth filling the now empty space.

Jane can see a flash of something like shock pass over the god's features, and then he's raising his hands, green-white light splaying bright between his fingers.

But the Hulk is like lightening, moving faster than the eye can see, and in an instant, he's grabbed hold of Loki, lifting him from the floor like he weighs nothing, and Jane feels her stomach flip in sickening dread at the sight.

Loki, who she'd seen with her own, two eyes uproot a tree from the ground and wield the damn thing like a toy sword.

The Hulk barrels into the shop, massive hand gripped about Loki's shoulders, and it's like the world comes to a screeching halt, and what's happening is playing out in some bizarre, slowed haze.

The Hulk lifts the god, and there is a nauseating horror which rips through Jane, everything snapping back to reality as he brings Loki down, smashing his head against what looks like a slab of inch thick marble lain out on the front counter. The kind bakers use to work dough on.

The thing snaps in two from the impact, and for one, terrifying moment, Jane is sure, she's sure, Loki is dead. The speed with which he was smashed, the power behind the impact…

She knows he's a god, or a… a super powered alien or whatever, but Jesus, she doesn't think anyone could have survived that.

The Hulk lets him drop, Loki's body falling limp to the ground, and it seems for a moment, time stills, and Jane can feel herself shaking.

And then her eyes widen in absolute disbelief, and such unexpected and overwhelming relief, as she sees the mischief god shift, and push himself to his knees. His arms are shaking, and there is blood, too much blood, smeared along the ridge of his brow, a deep laceration running from the edge of his hairline, down his right temple.

The Avengers are standing around him, gathered in a half circle, watching with apprehension as he struggles up to his feet, posed to fight. They're wary of him still, even as he stumbles, and falls back to one knee, hand coming to his head.

"Oh, God…" Jane breathes to herself, watching as he again tries getting to his feet, and again, his legs give out beneath him.

The Black Widow says something to him, pistol aimed directly at the god's head. But whatever it is, Loki isn't listening.

Jane sees his eyes light like green fire, as a third time, he struggles to his feet. And then those eyes flare brighter somehow still, glowing incandescent, and his mouth falls open in what looks like a scream of rage.

He turns, in a motion impossibly quick, and in an instant, a blast of green and gold light explodes out from his hands, thrust towards the Hulk.

The blast hits the beast, and as easily as he had lifted the god and crushed him down, the Hulk is now blown off his own, massive feet, lifted into the air and shot like a bullet across the shop, smashing through the wall with such an impact, it seems to shake the very foundations of the building, disappearing onto the street outside.

And then nothing.

Loki takes a step forward, still clearly unsteady on his feet, and before he can do so much as raise his arms again, Iron Man blasts him with a repulse, throwing the god back against the counter, crushed against his lower back.

As he falls forward, Captain America lets his shield fly, the edge of it catching Loki in the throat, and then Iron Man surges forward, seizing the god by the lapels of his suit, lifting him up and tossing him over the counter, following after him as Loki lands hard against the open stove top beyond. The Avenger wastes no time, not allowing Loki to recover as he grabs him by the hair, and smashes his face into the wrought iron appliance. Visible steam rises off the surface, and Loki convulses, and Jane realizes with horror that the stove top is on, that it's hot.

Iron Man holds him there, pinned, as he retrieves some sort of device from one of the compartments in his suit, what looks like a high tech collar of some sort.

Loki struggles viciously, bucking under the Avenger's hold, getting his hands underneath him, pressing them to the stove top. More steam rises, and Jane feels sick, realizing that the heat must be flaying the god's naked hands raw. But if he feels any pain, it does nothing to deter him, as he lifts himself up, overpowering Iron Man's pressure, the sheer strength of the move leaving Jane's, and the other Avenger's mouths hanging open in astonishment.

But before he can rip himself free, Iron Man leans forward, jamming an elbow into the god's back, nearly laying his entire torso across Loki's, effectively pushing him back down. And then he's snapping the collar around Loki's neck, and there is a violent shutter through the trickster's thin frame, his mouth falling open in what looks like a scream.

Everything stops.

Loki falls limp and still. Unresponsive.

Unconscious.

Iron Man hauls him off of the stove, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground.

He gives the thumbs up to his team. The Hulk still hasn't emerged from where he'd been thrown through the wall.

When they pull Loki's arms behind his back, carelessly and even unnecessarily rough, and bind his wrists together in some thick, metal restraints unlike any she's ever seen, Jane can't take any more.

She shuts the television off, and turns away.

She hears Darcy's voice, still talking incessantly through the speaker on her phone, dropped at her side.

She bends, lifting the device off the floor, hitting the end button.

And then she sinks down, onto her knees, and presses her face into her trembling hands.

And all she can see is Loki defending himself. Not attacking. Not attacking.

Not until they attacked him.

Loki, who saved her life twice over.

Loki, who she saw in his mother's garden, weeping for her.

And something about this feels wrong.

All of it.

It feels so wrong.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She finds him where he always is.

Tucked and hidden away in the backmost section of the palace library, huddled low in a chair, back against the wall of the corner it's placed in.

He knows she's there.

Loki always knows, and she smiles softly to herself.

Her son, brilliant and bright and too, too sensitive.

Such sensitivity has never fit in such a place as Asgard.

Not in a man.

Though Loki is still just a boy, somewhere half between childhood and a warriors age.

This will only become more difficult for him.

He doesn't move as she approaches, doesn't give any indication that he's aware of her presence.

And at first, she says nothing, as she pulls out an opposing seat, sweeping her skirts back as she lowers herself elegantly into the chair.

Loki has his face buried in his arms, rested against the table.

He's trying to fool her into thinking he's asleep, and her smile only grows.

She studies him a moment longer.

His hair is damp and mussed, half caked with dust from the training fields. His clothes similarly so. There is a long tear in the right sleeve of his tunic, and underneath, she can see dried blood from a wound long since healed. But the fact alone he's left it uncleaned would be enough to tell her something is wrong.

Loki is always so fastidious about his appearance, about cleanliness.

Eventually, she breaths in, reaching out a hand and resting it gently upon his thin shoulder.

"Loki." She speaks his name in barely more than a whisper.

"I am well." He answers immediately, voice muffled.

But she can hear the thickness of it, and she is his mother. She can tell when he's lying, even if no one else can.

"I know you are not." She says.

And he remains silent at that.

"Thor told me what happened." She goes on.

Loki scoffs, still hiding his face.

"Did he?" He asks, tone derisive.

Frigga nods.

"Yes." She answers. "Loki, remember what I told you? You cannot…"

"Did he tell you how he laughed with the others?" Loki suddenly cuts her off, still refusing to lift his face to her.

Frigga pauses, feeling herself tense slightly, mouth pulling into a frown.

Her hand still rests on Loki's shoulder, and she can feel the vague tremble running through his frame.

"No." She at last answers. "He did not."

Again, Loki scoffs, and now he sits up, turning his face away too quickly for her to catch a clear glimpse of it.

"Of course." He mutters.

She feels her heart sink, watching as he wipes quickly at his eyes, trying to disguise it as he rubs his hand over his face and racking it back through his hair an instant after.

"Loki," she begins again, finally pulling her hand back. "you should not let it bother you. Thor is brash, and young. He is libel to fall to the pressure of his peers. It does not mean that is how he really feels or…"

Loki turns to her abruptly, and her heart nearly breaks at the sight of him. Eyes rimmed red and puffy, still glassy with unshed tears. He's clearly been crying. His face is bruised, a wash of tiny lacerations across his left cheek, lip split wide across the bottom and left eye blackened.

The wounds will be healed over entirely in another hour or so.

But Loki's pride will not.

His expression is trembling, struggling as he fights to hold on to a mask of indifference, until finally, he loses the battle, and his face breaks in pained lines.

"I cannot even best a girl, Mother." He says, voice pitched slightly higher in his distress. "Sif makes of me a fool. And what are the others to think? Seeing their Prince so easily defeated? So easily disarmed and thrown? How is anyone supposed to look to me as their leader when I am so weak and useless on the field of battle?"

He turns away again, hand coming up and fisting in his already tangled hair.

"Loki…" Frigga reaches out in concern, seeing the beginnings of a panic attack in him.

He's suffered them since he was a small child, and it frightens her so, whenever it happens.

"They are right to laugh at me." Loki finally says, voice hoarse and weak. Resigned.

"Loki, do not speak such nonsense." Frigga chides, quickly and firmly.

When he doesn't acknowledge her, she reaches forward, placing her palm against his left cheek and turning his face towards her.

"Loki," she repeats. "I never want to hear you speak that way about yourself again. Do you hear me?"

His eyes flit away, even as she keeps him facing forward.

And a sigh drags from her lips, letting her hand fall.

"My boy," she says so quietly, it's almost soundless. "you cannot do this to yourself."

She watches him silently a moment, and then shakes her head.

"You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, my son." She goes on. "What do the words or regard of others matter unless you believe fully in yourself? Loki…"

She takes hold of his slender hand, squeezing gently.

"What matters is you fight bravely. And yes, perhaps you are not physically strong as some of the others. But you still are growing, and eventually, with time, you will become more proficient a fighter."

"I will never be as strong as Thor." She hears him mutter.

She frowns.

"… Perhaps not." She replies, giving his hand another squeeze, because she knows he will not.

Few ever will be, as is, and Loki is small. Of slight build, from the time he was a babe…

He will grow more… but not much.

She looks down, still holding on to him.

"They laugh at me for my inadequacy in wielding more formal weaponry, and yet chastise and call me coward if I dare to use my seidr in battle." He snaps suddenly, and when Frigga looks up, she sees the single tear which escapes down his cheek. He wipes it viciously away. "I know not what they want of me! I know not what… what…"

His eyes squeeze shut, and he shakes his head in frustration.

"What I am supposed to do. What I am supposed to be!"

"Oh, Loki…" Frigga breaths, and she stands without hesitation, coming around the table and bending, taking him in her arms and embracing him close.

"You be yourself, my child." She whispers against his hair. And she feels him cling back, a sharp shutter through his frame. "You be yourself."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When she enters his cell, she has to stop a moment and catch her breath.

She sees him, sat along the floor.

His hands are bound above his head. Shackled to the wall. They're the same, thick metal cuffs she'd watched them fit onto him on the news. They cover the entirety of his hands, hiding them away, coming midway down his forearms. The chain which holds him to the wall must be three inches thick at each link, bolted down at their ends.

They've removed the suit he was wearing, she notices quickly.

He's in nothing more now than a single, grey t-shirt and loose cotton pants, no shoes or socks on his feet, ridiculously long legs lain out flat in front of him.

His head is drooped forward, and for the first time, it registers to Jane that his hair is short, in the least, compared to how long it had been when last she saw him. Down only to his shoulders now.

But it is mussed and disheveled, thick strands of it falling over his hidden face.

She can see bruises along his arms, starting where the cuffs end, and all the way up to along his small biceps and around.

It's bizarre, how thin he is, how slightly built, and yet they have him bound by restraints meant to hold only the strongest of mutants on their planet.

More bruises still are visible along the low cut neck of his t-shirt, where his collarbone is showing, and Jane feels ill.

They've tortured him.

Fury all but admitted it to her, outside in the hall, when she'd come storming into the compound earlier, demanding to see Loki.

They'd refused at first.

And then she'd begun threatening them, telling them that Thor was by to see her at least once a week (which was a lie. But Thor did come to see her fairly often. Perhaps every month or two.). She'd told them then she would be letting Thor know that they'd essentially beaten the hell out of his little brother and locked him up in a cell, after he'd served his judgment for his crimes both here on Earth, and in Asgard. It wasn't a lie, to tell them that Thor would be extremely unhappy, if he were to find out what they'd done.

Whenever she did see Thor, he still spoke to her about Loki. About how much he missed his brother, and wished he would come back. How he would worry over him, about where he'd gone and what he was doing. About what, possibly, was being done to him.

He tells her Frigga's garden still blooms healthy and with life, and Jane has smiled at that.

Thor loves Loki, Jane knows. He loves him with all his heart. And if he knew… if he knew what was happening now, well… Jane hardly envies SHIELD, or the Avengers at this moment.

She knows Thor has enough power alone to tear both entities apart, should he so choose.

And if Heimdall is watching… if Loki hasn't cloaked himself from the gatekeepers sight, then it doesn't really matter if she ends up telling Thor or not, because he'll know, and he'll be coming.

That collar is still secured around Loki's neck, she sees. Flashing red and green lights interchanging on a timed loop, blearing brightly along its edge.

It's some sort of magic repressor, Fury had explained. Something keeping Loki from accessing his power.

The SHIELD director claims that the physical pain it causes the god was an unexpected side effect. That they hadn't anticipated that to happen. That they still didn't know enough about how "this whole magic thing" worked to understand the consequences of binding a sorcerer's power.

Jane has a hard time believing that, looking over Loki now.

Fury claims their "tactics", as he puts it, were a necessary evil. That they'd been trying to get him to talk, to glean what he was doing back on Earth. Apparently, though, their efforts have been in vain.

Loki, Fury says, hasn't spoken a single word to anyone since he woke up.

Hasn't so much as uttered a cry of pain for their special attentions.

The agents of SHIELD are spooked.

Jane can see it in their body language. The way they hold themselves, and start, however minutely, at every, little, unexpected noise.

Loki scares them.

And she smiles grimly to herself at the thought.

He should.

Loki is fucking scary.

Jane doesn't know why exactly she feels this way. Why she's even here.

She tries to reason to herself that she's upset on behalf of Thor. That it's because Thor would be horrified if he saw what they'd done to Loki, and she feels some weird obligation to him to make sure his family is okay.

But deep down, she knows it's something beyond that.

Deep down, she knows there's something in her which protests at seeing the god treated this way.

Logically, she thinks she should still hate Loki. Still feel nothing for his own suffering.

He saved her life.

But that doesn't change what he did to ruin so many others. Including Eric's.

And yet, she doesn't know. It's like she sees something in Loki she can't explain.

Something which makes her heart ache in some hopeless pain.

He seems so… lost to her.

Almost like a child.

She scoffs inwardly at the thought.

He's literally thousands of years old. He's lived so long, seen so much, known so much, she can scarcely begin to wrap her mind around it.

But still, the impression is strong within her.

He's so young looking.

She continues staring at him, lost in thought, when the sound of his voice nearly startles a yelp from her lips.

"Ms. Foster." He says, voice hushed in its softness.

And then he lifts his face, and she sees the vicious bruising around his eyes. The dried blood crusted round the nostrils of his fine, long nose, and along his upper lip. The abrasions, ugly and red and stark against his too pale skin.

He smiles at her, and she's both at once unsettled, and struck by how very handsome he is, even through the beaten state of his visage.

His teeth are smeared with blood.

"This is an unexpected surprise." He continues.

And she watches him shift, straightening as much as he can with his hands trapped above his head.

Even chained to a wall, he manages somehow to still look dignified.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" He asks.

Jane swallows.

She doesn't understand how he can sound so… light… given his situation. Given what's happened.

"Fear not, mortal girl." He bows he head slightly. "I harbor for you no ill will."

His eyes rise up to her again, bright and clear.

"No longer." He says. And he sounds like he means it.

Jane's brow furrows, and at last, she takes a step into the cell, the door swooshing shut behind her, giving a mechanical click as it locks into place.

She should be afraid, being locked in a cell with Loki, she thinks.

For whatever reason, she isn't.

"… Are you alright?" Are the first words which find their way out of her mouth.

For a brief moment, there is a flash of something in his eyes. Something like a mix between confusion and defensiveness.

He sits up straighter even, holding his chin high. And then he smiles, a carefree, easy expression.

"Do not concern yourself, Ms. Foster." He says brightly. "I am hale and whole."

Jane's lips pull into a frown, stepping closer, seeing better the deep contusions which consume his collarbone and run to beneath his shirt.

He's still so skinny.

She doesn't think he's gained any weight since last she saw him.

"They hurt you though." Jane nearly whispers.

And Loki laughs.

Jane's frown deepens.

"Yes," Loki nods after a moment, seeming to have to catch his breath. "well," he shrugs as best he can with his arms restrained as they are. "they have given it their best effort. But these ridiculous mortals, they lack both the stomach and the imagination. They do not begin to grasp the true concept of torture."

His smile widens, and there is the ghost of experience in his eyes. Haunted memories imprinted there.

Jane feels a horrified chill run through her, remembering the sight of his naked back, and the scars upon his face.

"I would offer you a place to sit." Loki's voice cuts in to her thoughts. "But as you can see, the room they've placed me in is rather bare."

Jane reaches up, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"That's okay." She says quietly.

Her eyes flick down, away from him finally.

It's bothering her, she realizes, seeing him chained up like this.

"You came back to Earth." She says almost soundlessly. So quiet, she thinks he must not have caught it.

But then she hears him answer.

"Aye." He says.

She looks back to him.

"Why?" She asks bluntly, realizing only a moment later that it's the same question which has been posed to him over and over by SHIELD the last two days, and he hasn't deigned to answer them at all, even when they've tried to force him to.

For a moment, she fears she's messed it all up. That he'll grow angry and rage at her. Or simply shut down and refuse to speak.

But he again only shrugs.

"They think me to have returned in another attempt to subjugate this Realm." He says softly, smiling faintly.

Jane swallows, staring back at him.

"… Have you?" She asks nervously.

Loki's smile grows tight.

Almost… sad.

"No." He answers, looking straight at her.

And then his eyes flash away, face turning down.

"I no longer seek a means to pride." He adds, so quietly, she isn't sure she's even heard him right.

A moment passes, Jane feeling unsure, remaining silent as he continues to face away from her.

Until, abruptly, he straightens again, looking at her.

"I am traveling." He says. "Or rather, was." His smile is bitter now. "I have been to all Nine Realms these past months." He explains. "And some places beyond. Exploring their different cultures and costumes." Here, his smile grows more genuine, before falling abruptly. "Midgard was merely my most recent destination. I should have been more cautious, I admit. Disguised myself, perhaps."

He glances away once more.

"It is only that there are so many of you, and I thought… miscalculated, I suppose, on the chances of me being recognized. Though, truly, even you may wonder at the probability of one of the… Avengers, walking into the very same shop I found myself the afternoon before last."

She watches as he leans his head back against the wall, eyes closing, a faint smile playing about his lips.

"I admit delight upon finding a Midgardian baker's shop." He says. "That, if nothing else on this Realm, is similar to Asgard. Though your pastries are of an entirely different sort."

He leans his head back forward, eyes opening, staring at her across from him half-lidded.

His smile is lazy now, and Jane is beginning to wonder at the number of expressions his face holds.

She's never seen anything like it. Never seen a person's face emote so many things, and at times, emote nothing at all.

"It is a weakness of mine." He goes on. "Sweets. Sweet things. One should always admit to their weaknesses Ms. Foster, lest those weaknesses remain unbolstered by strengths and so used against you."

Jane swallows, averting her eyes, cheeks flushing for some reason she can't place.

"They aren't going to let you out of here." She says softly.

"No," he answers. "I should think not."

She glances back to him.

"What are you going to do?" She asks.

She realizes there is a sense of dread within her, being pulled in two opposing directions.

She fears for Loki, for what may be done to him here.

And she fears for those who keep him, for they understand not the power he holds, she thinks.

She finds him staring back at her, that same, confused, almost defensive shadow in his eyes, and again, she wonders over it.

"I will manage, as I always do." He at last answers.

Again, she tucks her hair behind her ear.

"Can… can Heimdall see you?" She asks quietly, looking away.

Loki smirks.

"Now? Yes. With this infernal human device round my neck."

Jane shifts, folding her arms over her chest.

"If Heimdall can see you then, well… I guess Thor could…"

"I do not require a hero, Ms. Foster." Loki's voice suddenly cuts her short, harsh and sharp.

Her mouth closes with a snap at the look across his face, eyes blazing at once with unchecked fury and indignation.

They stare at one another a moment, silent, until Jane watches the anger seep away from Loki's features, leaving a blank mask in place.

"… I'm sorry." Jane says, trying to keep her voice calm.

He still scares the hell out of her, even chained up like he is.

"I just thought… I mean…" she shuffles uneasily, crossing her arms. "Couldn't you just tell them the truth, about why you're here I mean?"

Loki laughs suddenly, a light chuckle, and he shakes his head.

"I hardly think they would believe me." He replies. "What reason would they have to?"

That was a good point.

Jane shrugs, looking down, feeling her cheeks flush somewhat.

"I guess they don't." She admits quietly. "Maybe I could…" she shrugs, looking around the cell. "I don't know, maybe I could…"

Again, she hears Loki laugh, though this time it isn't quite so incredulous, more like a tolerating amusement.

Almost… pleasant.

"Compassionate girl." He says. "It is a wonder you mortals survive past a day, hampered as you are by such sentiment."

Loki's words are mocking, but the tone of his voice… he sounds almost fond. And he's smiling at her nearly kindly, good naturedly.

"But no," he goes on after a moment. "I should not require your assistance, Ms. Foster. I assure you I am quite capable on my own."

"I… I know." Jane answers, abruptly worried she's offended him and not even understanding why. "I wasn't saying…"

"You associate with them now?" Loki cuts her off suddenly. "With this… faction of SHIELD?"

Jane blinks, for a moment thrown by his wording.

"Uh, if you mean do I work for them? Then, yeah." She nods. "I do."

Loki nods in return, looking thoughtful.

"And do you find the partnership to your satisfaction?" He presses.

Jane hesitates a moment.

Then shrugs.

"The funding's great." She says. "Pays pretty good. And access to their labs and equipment is nice too."

"You evade the question." Loki smiles. "You speak of the associations many benefits, but do you find yourself satisfied with the arrangement?"

Again, Jane hesitates, actually having to contemplate the question.

And she realizes in that moment, as she had before, and as she considers the god, and what SHIELD has done to him, unprovoked, no, she isn't. She really isn't.

She shakes her head, glancing away.

"Not really." She admits.

"Ah." Loki says. "Too many rules."

She looks back to him, surprise evident across her face.

He's smiling at her again.

"Factions such as your SHIELD," he begins to explain. "they offer the pretense of generosity, so long as you comply by their rules. And such strictness can only ever stifle creativity, I find."

Jane's mouth falls slightly open, eyes widening, because, yes, yes! That's it exactly!

That's exactly the issue she's found herself having with her new position. Despite all the resources and supposed command she's been given, she feels less in control of her research than she ever has in her life.

And Loki putting it to words like that just now, it's like a light going off in her head, clarity of just how unhappy she's been these past few months, answering to a government agency when before it was all hers. Her research. Her baby.

She's struck suddenly and acutely with the desire to be free from it, from the suffocating restrictions she's so recently found placed upon her.

The wrongness she feels in the knowledge that her work is no longer her own.

She's about to speak, to tell Loki what she's just, suddenly come to realize, to thank him even for helping her to it, when she's cut off by the sound of the intercom, and then Fury's agitated voice, flowing over the system.

"That'll be all, Dr. Foster. Times up." He says.

And then the cell door is sliding open with a whoosh, and two guards are entering, there, obviously, to escort her out.

Jane glances at them briefly, before turning back to Loki, finding the god looking at her still, smiling softly.

He bows his head to her.

"As you will, Ms. Foster." He says. "It has been a pleasure."

Jane nods absently.

And then she's being led away, out of the cell, the sound of the door whooshing shut and locking tight behind her filling her ears loud.

/

Four days later, Jane is on the phone, talking to Eric, and he's telling her that Loki has just escaped SHIELD custody in the last hour. Telling her he, somehow, talked one of the guards into undoing his cuffs before proceeding to rip the collar round his neck free with his bare hands and vanish from the place in a shock of green light.

Nobody hurt. Nobody killed.

He just… left.

The guard had already been detained and was being interrogated.

He's telling her all of this in a panic, voice thick with undisguised concern for her.

And she's reassuring him, telling him he's worrying needlessly. That more than likely, Loki has simply left the planet entirely, after everything.

And then she hears a soft knock at her front door.

She tells Eric to hold on a minute, placing the phone against her chest as she moves across the living room.

She doesn't even bother checking through the peephole. She assumes it's Darcy, coming to harass her and drag her outside for some "fun in the sun", as she puts it, every Friday morning.

And then she's opening the door, and she's greeted by somebody's chest, clothed in an extremely fine, green and gold embroidered vest. White dress shirt underneath. A scarf to match the vest hanging down over their shoulders.

She stares a moment, confused.

And then she remembers to look up, and her mouth opens, no words forthcoming.

Loki looks back down at her, a wide smile spread across his handsome face.

He bows his head for her, and then looks back up.

"Good morrow, Ms. Foster." He says. "May I come in?"


	10. Chapter 10

Jane stares, open mouthed, eyes wide with shock.

Loki only keeps looking back at her, smiling innocently, as though this entire situation is nothing but perfectly normal.

His eyes sparkle in amusement.

Slowly, as in a daze, Jane raises the phone still held against her to her ear.

"Eric," she says distantly. "I have to go."

She doesn't even wait for his reply before ending the call.

And then she's leaning out the door, looking left, and then right down the carpeted hallway of her apartment complex, looking for… she doesn't even know what, feeling only minor relief at seeing no one, before she's grabbing Loki's hand without thought, and trying desperately to tug him inside.

At first, she isn't able to move him even an inch, him just standing, stiff and still and looking down at her in plain confusion. It's like trying to pull a tree free from the ground, she thinks. And then her eyes go wide, and she attempts pushing the thoughts from her mind, just as Loki seems to understand what it is she wants, allowing himself to be dragged inside.

Jane wastes no time once he is in closing the door and turning to face him, not bothering to try and hide the panic she feels blooming in her chest from plastering itself across her face.

She stares up at him a moment, words escaping her as he looks back, apparently unfazed by any of this, until finally, her throat decides to start working again, and she blurts out…

"What are you doing here!?"

The expression of amusement doesn't leave his face, smile only stretching, not answering her as he turns and begins, apparently, surveying her small apartment.

His eyes are sharp and considering, and Jane doubts somehow he misses a single detail of the place.

A spike of annoyance shoot through her though, and she forgets to even be afraid of him when he begins moving about the place, bending slightly at the waist every now and then to examine something more closely.

She follows after, lips thinning.

"Loki!" She snaps, annoyance beginning to turn to anger. "What if someone followed you here? Oh God, I'm going to be in such a world of shit if someone saw yo…"

"I assure you," he cuts her short, not even bothering to turn and look at her. "no one saw me."

"But how can you know?" She protests, still following him around like this is his apartment, not hers.

"I deal in stealth, Ms. Foster." He finally stops, turning towards her. "Again, I assure you. I was not followed, nor seen."

His hands fold at his front, perfectly genteel.

"No one but you knows I am here." He finishes.

For a moment, they face off, just staring. Loki's expression blank, maybe vaguely expectant. Jane's own utterly incredulous.

And then she blinks.

And her head shakes.

"No." She says. "No, no, no, no. Loki… Loki, you can't be here. You can't…"

"Do you know," again, he cuts her off, turning once more to examine his surroundings. "many centuries ago, when your people still believed in their gods, and one among us deigned to honor you with our presence," he glances at her briefly, before returning to the portrait of her childhood dog, framed and positioned on her work desk. "it was customary, and complied to without question, that you refer to us as 'My Lord'. In turn, having been a Prince of the Aesir," here, there is a tinge of bitterness to his voice. "not only would the mortals of Midgard refer to me thus, but as well the other gods."

Again, he stops, turning to her, another amused smile playing across his lips.

"It would be considered a great insult, Ms. Foster" he goes on. "for any mortal, or any ranked below my station, to refer to me by name only."

Jane says nothing for a long instant, mind, for a horrifying moment, blanking.

She can't tell if he's serious or not.

Though if the smile still evident across his face is any indication…

She blinks, and then she shakes her head.

"Okay, look…" she starts. "how about this. If you just call me Jane, I can just call you Loki? That sound good?"

Her voice is clipped and annoyed, and she doesn't even know why she's addressing this, when he's in her freakin' apartment and she's about to be in a world of shit because of it.

She watches as he bows his head slightly, looking back to her, smile turning to a grin.

"A fair compromise." He replies.

"Great!" She nearly shouts, throwing her hands up. "Perfect! So again, Loki, like I said before, I'm sorry, but you can't stay here. You've got to go."

He considers her a moment then, brow furrowing, smile lessening, but still in place, almost… fond.

"One cannot but admire such tenacity in so frail a creature." He says, and Jane's expression turns incredulous.

"Excuse me?" She bites, disbelieving.

"True though, is it not?" He asks, once more turning from her and beginning to study another picture. This one of her mother. "You would be considered physically weak, even amongst your mortal peers. "But weakness of body does not equate weakness of will. Your physical vulnerability only makes the strength of your spirit the more exceptional."

But Jane hardly catches the compliment, pride at his declaring her any kind of weak too injured.

"God, you're such a prick!" She spits, and without thought, she raises her hand, lashing out to slap him hard as she can across the arm.

In a flash, he catches her wrist, and though his fingers round her joint aren't even tight, she finds suddenly she can't move her arm even a fraction, completely stilled.

She blinks, shocked.

She hadn't even seen him move.

And then she looks up to his face, and he's looking back to her with such seriousness, she feels her breath catch in her throat.

His head shakes.

"You will hurt yourself." He says. And there isn't any mocking in his voice. No joke.

He holds her a moment more, regarding her closely, as though he is trying to assess whether she understands or not.

And then, slowly, he loosens his grasp, and turns away.

Unconsciously, Jane takes hold of her wrist and rubs it, despite the fact he didn't hurt her at all.

She thinks it's maybe the thought that he could have. He could have so easily…

"The truth is, Jane…" he begins, and his voice is almost too soft to hear.

She watches as he moves towards the bookcase, pressed up against the wall behind her desk. Watches as he splays his fingers wide along one of the shelves, just standing there, head bowed.

For a moment, he's silent.

"The truth is, I have very few options available to me at the moment."

He turns again, striding to the other side of the room, still not looking at her as he continues.

"There are… hostilities towards me still throughout many of the Nine Realms, and… many of the places beyond as well…"

Once more, he pauses, standing stiff and still.

And then, abruptly, he turns to her, and he says…

"I had hoped to seek refuge for a time, here on Midgard. I had hoped…"

Suddenly, he pauses, and looks towards the front door, his already rigid frame growing tighter.

"Someone is coming." He breaths quietly, and Jane's eyes widen.

"What?" She asks.

And then there's a knock at the door, and Jane's head snaps in the sounds direction, frozen for a moment as panic takes hold.

"Oh shit…" she says. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…"

Loki is looking at her with clear confusion across his brow.

And then Darcy's voice is floating through the door.

"Jane!" Another knock. "Bitch, I know you're in there! Open up!"

Loki's eyebrow raises in obvious questioning, looking at Jane.

But she's already moving towards him, taking his hand and trying to drag him towards the bedroom.

"You have to hide!" She hisses. "Hurry!"

And now a grin is breaking out over the god's features, barely suppressed laughter threatening to make its way up his throat.

"Jane! Come on! I totally hear you in there!" Darcy calls again.

"I… I'll be there in just a minute!" Jane calls back over her shoulder, just as she manages to shove Loki through the doorway to her bedroom.

"Stay… just…" she looks back behind her, then towards him again. "Just stay here. Don't go anywhere. Don't make any noise."

And before Loki can speak a word in reply, she's slamming the door shut in his face, seconds later, the sound of Jane speaking to some other woman floating through the thin wood to reach him.

And then there is only silence, and the sound of a door closing shut.

/

It's late, when Jane finally gets back.

She'd kept trying to break away, to cut her outing with Darcy short. Or at least, that's what Jane tells herself.

That it has nothing to do with the secret hope that when she returned, the entire affair will have turned out to be nothing but an extremely elaborate product of her over worked imagination.

Logic tells her the improbability of that. But when has hope ever had a thing to do with logic?

But Darcy had insisted on dragging her from one amusement to another, chastising the physicist over how little fun she actually allowed herself to have, and Jane, if she was being honest with herself, knows she hadn't really put up all that much of a fight.

And she knows why, standing here now, outside her apartment door, hand frozen on the knob, key sat, unturned, in the lock.

What if Loki's still here?

What if he hasn't left?

What the hell is she going to do?!

She closes her eyes, breathing deep.

"Okay Jane," she tells herself silently. "just stay calm. It's okay. It's all okay."

Yeah… right.

More than likely, Loki's still here. She'd told him to stay before Darcy had swept her off, and knowing what she did of Loki, which admittedly, was next to nothing still, he would take her panic induced instructions as an invitation to crash at her pad.

Which means, then, that she's harboring a God damned WAR criminal and psycho, alien god magician whatever the fuck he is in her apartment, and when SHIELD finds out… she's fucked.

She's so, so fucked.

Oh God, why the hell did these things have to happen to her?

She'd have to come up with a way to get rid of him, to convince him to leave, because this just couldn't happen.

This wasn't okay.

Finally, after nearly a minute of just standing there, Jane steels herself, and turns the key in its lock, hearing it click open.

It's perhaps another thirty seconds before she feels brave enough to turn the knob and push the door open.

And when she does, she only has the courage to stick her head in through the crack and glance around.

"… Loki?" She calls as quietly as she can, eyes scanning over the place.

There comes no reply, and she pushes the door open wider, for one, fleeting moment, allowing herself the hope that maybe he really has gone.

She steps through the threshold, closing the door softly behind her and calling out his name again, eyes moving over the small space.

And then she sees him.

He's on the floor, lying half turned onto his stomach at the foot of her desk, one arm curled beneath him, pressed against his chest, the other stretched out above his head. His legs are splayed straight back.

He's still dressed in the same suit he was wearing earlier, only the jacket and scarf are removed, as are the loafers he'd had on.

His eyes are closed, face relaxed, mouth slightly parted as he breaths steadily in and out.

And in a moment of shocked disbelief, Jane realizes suddenly that… he's sleeping.

She swallows, moving forward as quietly as she can, placing her keys down softly on the coffee table between the couch and television, never taking her eyes from him.

And the first thought to enter her mind is just how very young he looks.

It isn't the first time she's been struck with the impression.

But seeing him there like this, slack and unconscious and all of his rigid, detached manner put away, all of his masks gone…

He is as a boy.

Thin and small and vulnerable…

And so, so young.

She can see him breathing, just barely, the breaths shallow and too quick for rest. Every, few seconds, a twitch works through the fingers of his hands and through his feet, sometimes across his otherwise still face.

She wonders if he's dreaming.

And she remembers the dream Loki woke from in The Dark World. The gasp which tore from his lips.

The fear in his eyes…

It's late, she tells herself.

Too late to wake him and ask him to go.

Too much of a hassle.

Maybe she'll just let him stay the night then, and she can tell him to go in the morning.

That sounds like a plan.

Only because it's too much of a hassle, she tells herself.

Only because of that…

/

When she wakes, the apartment is almost entirely dark, save for the soft light of the moon, filtering through the windows, and she realizes groggily that it must be the middle of the night, though she doesn't remember having turned out any of the lights before she'd…

Her brow furrows, head clearing more, and she recalls suddenly having curled up on the living room couch, book in hand.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, but…

She becomes abruptly aware of something soft and warm, lying across her, the feel of the thick, velvety material clutched between her fingers, and she shifts her face slightly to look down, seeing a swatch of deep green.

She realizes with a start what it is.

Loki's cloak.

The one she'd tried all those months ago, before leaving Asgard, to give back to Thor. And she remembers Thor shaking his head and telling her no, that it had been gifted to her by his brother. Which meant it was hers to keep.

She hadn't been able to believe it at the time, not understanding. Why Loki would just give her something which, according to Thor, was literally centuries old and which was probably invaluable, if anyone ever knew what it actually was and who it had belonged to?

But Thor had insisted, and so she'd ended up taking it with her, back to Earth, and stowing it away in her closet, along the top shelf.

How it had ended up draped across her like a blanket, she had no idea.

And then, in a flash, she remembers.

Loki.

And in seemingly the same instant the memory breeches through the fog of her sleep addled brain, there is a soft sound ahead of her, from the kitchen, and in the following moment, the light from the refrigerator is piercing the dark, illuminating the small area, and she sees Loki, standing there, bent at the waist as he looks inside the cold box.

For a moment, he doesn't move, and she watches him from the side as he studies the contents of the fridge.

From what she can see of his face, bathed in the yellow light, all sharp angles fallen and contrasting in shadow, he seems curious. Maybe even a little… overwhelmed?

His head keeps lowering and rising, presumably looking over all the food inside, and Jane suddenly wonders if Loki has ever even seen a refrigerator before.

There certainly weren't any that she had seen on Asgard, though there'd been ice boxes for meat and other perishable items.

She'd thought at the time that it was bizarre, really, how such an advanced race and culture could be lacking such basic modern day technologies like electricity and computers and… well… just about everything one would associate with the modern era.

But everything in Asgard was based on magic… not… science. Thor had been mistaken there. Science and magic, as far as Jane could figure, weren't really anything alike at all.

She watches as, finally, Loki moves, reaching into the refrigerator, and a moment later, she sees him retract his hand, and grasped between his long, thin, white fingers, is a can of Pepsi.

Loki straightens, bringing the unopened beverage closer to his face, seeming to study it intently, and Jane realizes in almost amused disbelief that Loki has probably never seen soda before. Probably never tasted it. Not if his expression now is anything to go on.

He turns the thing over in his hand, examining it from every, possible angle, at one point lifting it and pressing it against his face.

He starts slightly, Jane assumes at how cold it is, and she smiles, suddenly taken by the urge to laugh at how surreally cute it is.

He pulls it away, eyes narrowing suspiciously. And then he begins fumbling with it, shaking it lightly and turning it round and round. He must hear the liquid sloshing around inside, because then, Jane realizes, he's trying to figure out how to open the thing.

He begins fiddling then with the tab on top of the can, and for a moment, Jane thinks he'll actually figure it out. But then the thing snaps off, and Loki's look of confusion only grows, bringing the thing up and blinking at it.

Jane actually has to suppress a giggle.

And then she sees him press his index finger against the can's still sealed opening, and with what seems no pressure at all, it breaks open, and immediately, the jostled contents come swelling out.

Loki's eyes go slightly wide with surprise as the carbonized liquid sloshes over his hand, and almost immediately, almost hastily, he places the can down on the counter, gazing at it with mistrustful eyes.

For several, long seconds, he just stands there, looking at it, watching the fizzed beverage bubble and pour over the can's rim, before finally settling out.

For a moment more, he remains motionless, and then he bends closer, looking intently at the can, before straightening and raising his still wet hand, bringing it to his nose and sniffing at it.

Jane can't make out if his expression changes at all, but then he's reaching for the can again and picking it up, bringing it closer to his face.

He sniffs it a few times, and then he's awkwardly bringing it to his lips, clumsily trying to take a sip.

It's painfully obvious he's never drunk from a can before, some of the soda escaping past the rim and his lips, dribbling down his chin.

But it's clear some of it makes it to its intended destination, as Loki snorts, jerking the can away almost violently, shaking his head and blinking a few times at it.

Jane's smile widens, and she bites her lip now to keep from laughing.

She has no doubt in her mind the god might actually kill her for thinking he's cute.

If it seemed he didn't like the Pepsi, he's clearly in the least intrigued, as he ends up bringing the can back for another taste, adjusting it around so that the opening is better facing him, and he sips more carefully this time, pulling it away after a moment, more calmly, a considering look on his face.

And then he's closing the fridge door, and Jane's watching him beginning to explore around the counter and cupboards, soda held securely in his right hand.

Every once in a while, he takes an absentminded sip from it.

And then he finds the box of Twinkies, and there's the faint sound of crinkling plastic as he reaches in and pulls one of the individually wrapped cakes out, looking at it with the same wary curiosity he had the soda.

But on this, he seems to make his mind up more quickly, taking the pastry and moving with it, along with the Pepsi, towards the same spot Jane had earlier found him sleeping.

She watches silently then as he lowers himself to the floor, not missing the way the lines of his face harden somewhat, like he's in pain or something, or how stiffly he moves as he gets down onto his knees, and then crosses his legs.

Something about the sight makes Jane's heart clench unpleasantly, remembering the state she'd found him in back at SHIELD HQ, the obvious signs of his having been beaten.

The bruises and lacerations are all gone now. At least, those on his face. But it suddenly occurs to Jane how difficult it would be to actually do that to Loki, to actually hurt him. How hard you would have to hit him to cause even the slightest bruising, let alone…

She feels suddenly, unpleasantly ill at the thought, squashing it quickly, eyes focusing back on the god.

He's laid his small lot out in front of him on the floor, just staring down at it for a long moment.

Something about the sight strikes Jane as sad.

It's just so… little, all of it.

Loki's so thin, she notices again, and she finds herself wondering when the last time was he ate.

And then he's picking up the Twinkie, examining the wrapper a moment more before, with strange delicacy, he begins to tear it open at the edge, ripping it slowly.

It takes longer than it should for him to get the cake free, and when he does, he seems to study the crumpled plastic a moment more, before turning his attention to the food, squeezing it lightly between his fingers, bringing it close to his nose and smelling.

His tongue flicks out briefly against it, brow furrowing at whatever he detects.

A few more, apprehensive seconds, and at last, he sinks his teeth into it.

Cream filling squishes out, catching along the corner of his mouth, and Loki's eyes go wide, unexpecting.

He pulls the cake away, staring at it in bemusement, and Jane sees his tongue flicker out, lapping up the misdirected filling from his lip.

It seems to take him a moment to regain his confidence, and when he does, his bites are small, almost… dainty.

Occasionally, he'll take a sip from the soda can.

It must be some twenty minutes which go by, and still, Loki has yet to finish his tiny, nutritionally lacking meal.

Until, eventually, Jane's still exhausted state again begins to catch up with her, her eyelids drooping heavy, and then closing.

She thinks vaguely that this is unsafe. That she should be concerned, falling asleep with a psychotic trickster god sitting not fifteen feet from her.

She should be concerned.

Her hands grip tighter in the material of the green cloak which somehow found its way across her while she slept, pulling it closer.

She should be…

… Somehow, she isn't.


	11. Chapter: 11

When Jane wakes the next morning, it is to the smell of cooking bacon and eggs, and then of warming toast.

For a moment, she thinks she must still be dreaming, her mind confusing at the unaccustomed scent of cooking breakfast foods wafting through her apartment. She lives alone, after all, and rarely does she have or make the time in the morning to make herself anything more extravagant than a pop-tart or to grab a stale doughnut from the box if either Darcy or Eric had happened to bring some over the day before.

And then she hears the soft sound of cupboards opening and closing, and her eyes creak open blearily, blinking a few times to adjust to the light, pouring in through the window.

And when finally her vision clears, she sees him there, standing with his back to her, rummaging through the cabinets, pulling plates and bowls. He's dressed in what looks like a green button down shirt and black dress slacks, hair smoothed back tightly against his head.

For an instant, her mind refuses to believe he's actually there.

And then he turns around, his too clear eyes landing on her, and he smiles, a row of perfectly straight, white teeth becoming exposed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in seemingly boyish charm. He's impossible looking, too handsome to exist.

And she's certain then a moment this can't be real.

His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, showing off the sinewy muscle of his forearms, thin and pale and perfect. He's setting two plates down on the counter.

"Good morrow Jane." He says. "I trust you slept well?"

She's staring at his arms, seemingly dazed a moment, before she seems to register his words, and her eyes flit back to his face, blinking.

"Um…" she begins, voice slurring slightly from the sleep still in her veins. And then she pushes herself up, feeling the cloak slip from her shoulders, glancing down at it in a haze, and then back to him. "You're still here…" she says, sounding confused, gaze shifting around him, trying to see the pan's she's sure are cooking on the stove.

The smell is unexpectedly enticing, and she feels her stomach grumble.

"Evidently." Loki replies smoothly, and then he turns, and he's fiddling around with something on the stove, his figure blocking her view still.

"Was I wrong to assume your invitation?" He continues.

For a moment, Jane just watches him, unsure of what to say.

She remembers telling herself last night that she was going to tell him to go in the morning, but suddenly the prospect seems unreasonably daunting, especially when he turns around, brows raised in questioning.

He's holding a pan now, scraping what looks like scrambled eggs off onto the two plates he's set out, and when the hell did Loki learn to cook on an electric stove?

"If you wish for me to depart, I shall burden you no longer Jane." He's saying, eyes focused on his task. "Only allow me to finish preparing you your meal. I have noticed an overabundance of easily accessible but nutritionally lacking foodstuffs about your place of shelter, and made the judgment that your oft bedraggled appearance and lowered energy can be attributed, at least in part, to the fact that you rarely eat properly."

Jane blinks.

"… I'm sorry," she says. "but, what?"

Loki looks up at her, nodding his head towards the food.

"Come and eat breakfast Jane." He says. "It would do you well."

Okay… what the hell is going on here?

Briefly, the thought flashes through Jane's head that she should pinch herself and make sure she's not still sleeping, because this is all a bit too surreal to be real.

Loki, the Norse god of Mischief, is standing in her kitchen, mother henning her about eating a nutritionally balanced meal.

When the fuck did her life get so weird?

Slowly, she swings her legs forward, off of the couch, planting her hands palm down along the ratty cushions before carefully lifting herself up to her feet.

Loki is watching her, apparently expectantly, as Jane stretches, popping her joints and grimacing at the pain in her lower back. That's what she gets for sleeping on the damned sofa.

And then she begins to make her way towards him, still trying to wrap her mind around this entire situation.

She remembers why she'd decided he couldn't stay. She hadn't even really thought about it. He was, essentially, a fugitive from SHIELD, the same SHIELD she found herself currently employed by, though she'd been rethinking that position for the last few days. If she was somehow found out harboring him, she had no idea what would happen, but she was certain it couldn't be good.

As she draws nearer to him, rounding the island, finally, the oven comes into view, and for a moment, she blinks, eyes widening at the sight.

The pans she'd assumed were cooking on the stovetop aren't, in fact. They're floating maybe an inch or two off the top, underneath them, a low, green flame flickering, small tendrils of smoke and heat rising off the top.

She blinks, and Loki must notice her perplexed and shocked expression, because she hears him say, a hint of amusement in his voice…

"Though I was able to ascertain its use, I found some difficulty understanding how to work this… contraption of yours." He waves an idle hand over the stove. "I hope you are not offended, I took the liberty of applying my own methods thus."

Jane swallows, eyes still fixed on the bizarre sight of her cookware floating in the air and sizzling atop a green fire, snapping out of her mesmerized state only when Loki suddenly takes hold of the pan and lifts it, the flame disappearing.

And then he's scrapping strips of bacon off, onto the plates on the counter, next to the eggs.

It all looks perfectly cooked.

Her stomach grumbles again.

Loki is moving over to her refrigerator then, opening it up, pulling out the orange juice like he freakin' owns the place, coming back around and pouring out two glasses.

He makes another one of those delicate, odd gestures with his hand, and out of seemingly no where, two forks appears in his grasp, intricately designed and made from looks like sterling silver. They sure a shit aren't hers.

He places one each on the plates, and then he's lifting one and a glass of juice, and handing them to her, a relaxed smile on his face.

Jane gawks, staring first at the proffered meal, and then back to his face, and again to the food before finally settling her gaze on him.

"Loki," she says, voice edged harder than she'd intended. "what are you doing?"

He blinks, hands pulling back slightly, expression momentarily blank.

"Beg pardon?" He asks.

"This." Jane gestures almost wildly about them, then towards the offered food. "Why are you…" her head shakes. "I mean, why are you here Loki? What is this?"

The oddest look passes over the god's face then, something strangely like hurt, or… or disappointment flashing in his eyes, gone in the instant after. And Jane would swear she'd imagined it if she weren't looking right at him, but his entire form seems almost to deflate, shoulders slumping, if only slightly, and he places the plate and glass back down on the counter before suddenly straightening up, poise returning.

"I explained myself to you yesterday, did I not?" He asks.

"You started to," Jane answers quickly. "but then Darcy interrupted, and…"

"Ah," Loki cuts in. "yes. Your faithful assistant."

Jane's face blanches slightly, realizing she'd just mentioned Darcy in front of him, an unwilling fear working through her guts.

The fear must show on her face, because Loki then smiles softly, the expression seemingly genuine.

"Fear not, Jane." He says. "I harbor no designs on your friend."

Jane swallows, the rigidity she hadn't even realized had worked into her frame relaxing somewhat.

Loki sighs, turning away from her at last, and for a moment, he just stands there, back to her, saying nothing.

She watches his head dip, hands folding at his back.

And then he begins to speak.

"I find myself…" he pauses, and very minutely, Jane can make out the tension in his thin frame. "met with some hostility… from a great many in the Realms I've traversed these past months."

He laughs, the sound bitter and resigned as he straightens to his full height and turns to look at her.

"One cannot deny my deservedness of such. Ever have I been of the unpopular sort, and my mischief throughout the centuries has only compounded the dislike."

He grins, and Jane feels a thread of unease work through her.

"I had hoped to find some modicum of rest… since my departure from the Realm Eternal, but alas… the Norns have not found the kindness within themselves to grant me such."

Once more, he turns from her, looking out over her tiny apartment.

"Midgard was a last resort." He explains. "The populace here is so abundant, I thought perhaps I would go unnoticed. Just another face, lost in a crowd of billions…"

He shrugs, hands still clasped behind him.

"A miscalculation on my part." He goes on. "I should have realized I would be recognized quickly. I could disguise myself, certainly, or keep myself shielded from the sight of others, but… the drain on my energy would eventually…"

He trails off, looking down.

She sees him swallow, and if Jane didn't know any better, she would swear there is an air of nervousness about him.

"… I have no place else, you see…" he says, so quietly, she barely hears it. "No place else to go…"

Jane thinks, logically, this must be a trick.

Trickster god.

Loki must be lying. Appealing to her sympathy, trying to make her feel sorry for him.

That's, logically, what her mind tells her.

Looking at him though, skilled a liar though she knows he is, she cannot find a trace of such in his weary, exhausted frame, or the hesitant, almost humiliated tone of his low voice.

She feels bad for him, despite her reasoning.

He looks so… lost.

And then there's his state.

He doesn't look as though he's gained an ounce in all the months since she saw him last, the circles under his eyes deep and dark as bruises, face drawn and gaunt and exhausted.

He looks like he hasn't slept at all in weeks.

"What about Asgard?" She finally asks, and Loki laughs, no actual mirth in the sound.

"Aye," he replies. "I suppose I could go back to that place."

He turns to her again, looking at her askance.

"But, I am hated there as anywhere. Perhaps more. Thor, sentimental fool that he is, may do his utmost to keep me safe, but there is only so much even the mighty thunderer can do. I would be attacked, eventually. Frost Giants, you understand, are not well accepted there, compounded with the already general disdain I am faced with from the Aesir. And with Odin back on the throne, he would doubtless insist on once more imprisoning me, since it was not his decree, but my oafish brother's that I be released. And since I do not relish the thought of imprisonment…"

For a moment, they just stare back at one another, saying nothing.

And then Jane sighs, and Loki says…

"If you wish for me to go Jane, I will. It is not a thing easy for me… begging your hospitality. I am a prideful creature, I can admit to that."

Jane sighs, shaking her head, bringing her fingers to her temples and massaging in a show of frustration.

"Oh, God, I am so going to regret this." She mutters.

Loki's face splits into a wide grin.

"Gods, dear Jane." He says in return. "There are more than one of us, you will recall."

/

"I have noticed," Loki begins as Jane digs her fork back into the eggs, unashamedly stuffing them into her mouth.

Who knew the God of Mischief would be such a good cook?

"you mortals have an unfortunate habit of wrapping your foods in odd materials." He waves his hand, and out of nowhere, suddenly, the wrapping from the Twinkie he'd eaten last night, and the can of Pepsi appeared between them upon the dining table.

Jane stares a moment, bemused.

"I have observed these materials to be largely in-disposable and that, thusly, they gather in great quantities throughout the Realm, cluttering the ground and hindering the natural integrity of the land."

His face turns almost sour in disapproval, shaking his head.

"Midgard has become much uglier since I visited here in my youth. You take such poor care of it."

Jane swallows her food, blinking.

"And there are so many of you." Loki goes on, undeterred by her blank expression. "More and more every year. This gathering of waste which you produce with your existence never seems to diminish. I fear that, soon, you shall all find yourselves overwhelmed by it."

For an instant, Jane isn't sure whether she should laugh, or be insulted.

"You're worried about waste management on Earth?" She asks finally, not bothering to hide the disbelief in her voice.

Loki shrugs.

"It is only something I have noticed as unique amongst you mortals. No other Realm has such a situation. I wonder, indeed, how you… manage it."

"We burn it." Jane answers quickly. "A lot of it. Or stockpile it sort of, in places called landfills, burying it."

Loki smiles ruefully.

"Well, that cannot be well for this Realm's general atmosphere or land, then can it?"

Jane frowns then. He's right. Of course he's right. But where this conversation is headed…

"No." She admits. "It isn't."

He nods.

"Why?" She blurts in an almost hostile tone, unable to help herself in her growing unease. "Are you thinking you would have handled the problem if you'd taken over our planet?"

Loki smirks, and then chuckles.

"I could rid you of the dilemma now, I should think. But it would do you mortals little good, for another to solve your own, self-induced troubles. Had I succeeded in my attempts to rule you then, yes, I would have aided your people in this."

Jane stares back at him, face pulled in incredulousness.

"You're justifying your actions." She says plainly, not a question.

"I elaborate for you on my intentions." Loki says back. "It is neither a justification nor a repentance. It merely is a statement of fact."

Jane's eyes narrow, and unexpectedly, she feels a well of anger bubble up inside her chest.

"Do you feel sorry for what you did? I mean, at all?" She asks, not caring that the anger is bleeding through into her voice. "Do you even feel any guilt? For all those people you murdered?"

For a long moment, Loki regards her with those frighteningly sharp eyes, saying nothing, face blank, unreadable as ever.

Until finally, his eyes slide away, looking down at his own, mostly untouched plate of food.

"I do not." He says, so softly she almost misses it.

Jane's mouth drops open in disbelief, and for a blazing moment, she thinks of telling him to get the hell out, right now. She remembers all those thoughts and fears of him, when they'd been in the land of the Dark Elves, thinking of him as a sociopath, and a psychopath, and a monster. And he's all but said so flatly now. Admitted it about himself.

"How?" She blurts, dismayed. "How can you not feel anything? How can you not care? Do you know how many lives you destroyed? How many lives you ende…"

"You understand not, for the culture you were raised in, Jane." He cuts her off abruptly. His eyes lift back to her, and they are hard and bright and shining with some emotion she can't put a name to.

She stares back at him, all thought momentarily coming to a halt in her brain.

He breaths in, letting it go in a quiet sigh, before again he turns from her, looking out over the room.

"I was raised in a world beholden to violence, to bloodshed and war. Midgard was once as this." He looks back to her. "Is still as this, if less overtly so. But war still rules. The struggle for power, for control. For the imposition of ideas and beliefs and standards. Empires are built in blood, Jane." He says, and his voice is so cold, so matter of fact. "Power is gained through oppression. Your society today proclaims righteous virtues and fair treatment of all peoples. And yet, you have grown so concerned with the image of appearing just and kind, that you do more harm than good. You fear for your reputations, and so refrain from harming civilian populaces in your waged wars. But in doing so, you invite unending conflict, and thus greater bloodshed and strife. Wars in which none win, and lives are lost without purpose or gain. You do you and your kind greater harm in denying your natures."

Loki's face in pulled in harsh, angry lines now, and Jane feels a trickle of fear course through her veins.

"Brutality wins peace Jane. Fear wins peace. And it is in peace complacency in born, and violence again breaks loose. It is a never ending struggle. For sentient beings of free thought and will will forever be discontent with their lot, and think for themselves something better. Something grander. Will always convince themselves of their own rightness, and the greater good to be gained by imposing those beliefs of others."

He smiles then, sharp and cruel.

"You judge me for my supposedly callous and unsympathetic regard for life, and yet you fail to take into account the vast differences between your ingrained values and mine. The differences between our worlds. You spend your days idling away on your computers and electronic devices. You see your moving pictures of the violence and destruction caused by your own kind, but it is happening far from you, and you make some off-hand comment about how terrible it is, and how your heart bleeds for your fallen man, before moving on with your general routine and forgetting it entirely, untouched, unbothered. You know naught the true horrors of war. You know naught its true nature. And yet you condemn it and think yourself qualified to stand in judgment upon it."

Suddenly, the mischief god leans closer to her, voice lowering.

"I have fought in thousands of battles over thousands of years Jane. I have spilt the blood of thousands more than those who lost their lives here by my hand and my actions. All in the name of Asgard. In the name of her ideals and her conquests. All in the belief of her superiority and rightness."

He leans back, never breaking his gaze with her.

"As has Thor. As has Odin, and Heimdall, and Tyr. As has the entire, elite guard of my world. War is the Aesir's lifeblood. It is what we live for, and we never have known anything other. And yet I am to concern myself with the lives of a few hundred Midgardians, out of a populace of billions?"

He shakes his head.

"No Jane. I feel no guilt in this. And who is to tell me I am wrong? The moral standards of your United States? A country just barely older than two centuries? I have lived for over five thousand of your Midgardian years, Jane. In five thousand more, if still I live, I will appear no older than I do now, sitting before you. I will still be thought young among my people.

I have witnessed innumerable and vast changes in the standards and structures and laws by which your people govern themselves in that time, and I assure you, those things will continue to change and shift, until what you consider barbaric and evil today will again, someday, be thought acceptable and true. And what you now think to be just and fair will someday be thought taboo and savage.

So do not speak to me of right and wrong, Jane Foster. Do not speak to me of what I should and should not feel, what I can and cannot do. What is true and what is false. You understand nothing, nothing of the universe and its workings. Nothing of the powers which govern us all, and will continue to do so, long after your people are gone and erased from existence. You know naught of my life, or the things I have seen. Naught of what I have known and felt. And if ever you did, you would not understand what you had glimpsed, but only be overcome with a despair and hopelessness to crush your spirit utterly with the sense of how irrelevant everything you have ever thought you knew truly is."

For a moment longer, he looks back at her, gaze hard and unyielding, and she looks back, mouth slightly slacked with astonishment.

Until at last, the god looks away, picking up his forgotten fork, sifting through his doubtless cold eggs, pushing them around the plate absently.

And Jane can hardly believe it, but she feels an actual kind of embarrassment, a kind of shame for having derided Loki then.

She hadn't ever thought of it like that.

She hadn't ever considered that he grew up in a world, in a culture where that kind of thing, where violence and war and battle were an every day occurrence, an every day reality.

Hadn't considered how long he's lived, and how much he must have seen in that time, how much he'd experienced.

She had only been measuring Loki and his actions by what she herself knew and understood. How she herself perceived the world. It was the only way she could measure him.

But she realizes then, very abruptly, how actually unfair that truly is.

How impossible…

Eventually, she pulls her eyes from him, looking down, folding her hands in her lap.

"… You're right." She says, nearly a whisper.

Loki stills, sitting a long second before his head lifts, staring curiously at her.

"I have no standing to judge you." She goes on, forcing her eyes up to meet his. "I can't even… conceive of how long you've been alive. I can't wrap my head around it. Can't imagine the things you've seen."

She glances away again, fidgeting nervously.

"It's stupid of me to try, and to try and hold you to the same standards I would myself. I keep forgetting you aren't human."

She glances back, and an uneasy laugh escapes her lips.

"They call that anthropomorphism, you know. When people try and apply their own traits and way of thinking onto animals and beings which aren't human."

She sighs, glancing away. It's hard for her to hold her gaze with Loki, his own is so unrelenting and sharp.

"I don't agree with what you did. I can't justify it, or… or call it right, or okay. But… but that's by my standards, and I can't expect you to agree with me either, or understand why I think what you did is wrong. I can't expect you to think of things the way I do, because we come from completely different worlds and I'm… I'm being biased and shortsighted, trying to force you into my way of thinking."

She falls silent then, fingers curling into the material of her pants, twisting anxiously.

She's suddenly too afraid to look up at him. She thinks, suddenly, that he must think she's ridiculous, and she imagines any moment she'll hear his mocking laughter and derision for her stupidity.

And so she isn't ready at all, when suddenly she feels the cool touch of his fingers around her arm, and she looks up, startled, seeing him leaned across the table, grasping her gently. He's looking into her face with such an intent and serious gaze, she finds herself unable to look away. She swallows thickly, terrified suddenly of what he's going to do.

And then he smiles, only faintly, and nods at her.

"You continue to win my admiration, Jane." He says. "For the cleverness you prove in how well you listen, you are a child of wisdom indeed."

She looks back at him, saying nothing for a long instant, before vaguely she nods, eyes finally flashing down, an embarrassed heat rising to her cheeks. She's blushing, and she doesn't even know why.

Loki smiles, his fingers at last sliding free from her arm, leaving a tingling sensation behind against her skin, and Jane wonders if it's only an affect of his clearly lower body temperature.

"Splendid!" She hears him says, and then hears him clap his hands together. "So, what then is on the agenda for today!?"

/


	12. Chapter 12

Jane never would have thought to call Loki, Norse god of Mischief and Lies, a clothes whore.

But that's about the only term she can think up as she sits here, watching him come out of the dressing room, decked out in what must be his tenth outfit, turning with his arms spread wide and asking her what she thinks.

What she thinks is that this is insane, and unreal, and all kinds of dangerous that she just doesn't want anything to do with, at all.

Loki, after asking her what they should do that day, hadn't even given her a chance to answer before his face had lit up in a ridiculously wide grin and he'd announced that they should "go to market".

Jane, using logic, had told him that was an unspeakably bad idea, and proceeded to list about a million and one reasons for why, chief among them being he would be recognized, and when that happened, they'd both be screwed.

And he had simply shaken his head, smile never fading, and then he'd… he'd…

Well, he'd shape-shifted, for lack of a better term.

Jane had stood, watching in paralyzed astonishment, as his entire face and form had changed into an entirely different person.

He had lost about three inches off his height. His hair had shortened even further, and had faded from an impossibly pitch black to a raspberry blonde, from straight and slicked back to curly and messy.

His lips had grown fuller, and his jaw had squared, face shifting from long and lean to wider and harder, brow ridge growing more pronounced, and nose more crooked. His vivid green eyes had changed to a light blue, and a goatee the same shade as his hair had sprouted along his face. And he was left standing in a pair of worn out looking jeans and a t-shirt, covering a frame decidedly more stocky and thick than his true build.

The entire process had taken less then a few seconds, and Jane had been left, standing across from a complete stranger.

Except for the eyes.

It was in Loki's eyes, you could see it was still him. Still with that disconcerting intelligence, shining brilliantly, bright and alive, in a way Jane still couldn't quite understand, or believe.

He had smirked at her, and reached out an arm, offering "shall we", spoken in a voice as utterly changed as his appearance. A common, Brooklyn accent coming through, and Jane, still to her embarrassment, had actually jerked in startlement, and Loki had laughed.

And now here they were, and Jane is growing twitchy.

She swears, Loki is like a woman in how much he loves to shop for clothes.

He's switched back to his normal form in the privacy of the dressing rooms.

"Well?" He asks, standing there in a beautifully cut designer suit. They're in Sacks Fifth Avenue, and everything he's tried on thus far has been Armani, or Valentino or some other insanely overpriced fashion giant label.

"You look great." She answers blandly, and Loki frowns.

"You've hardly taken note." He says, sounding… disappointed?

Jane blinks.

And then she sighs, running her hands over her face. Jesus, how long have they been here?

"Loki," she begins, unable to keep the edge of annoyance out of her tone. "what is that, like, the twentieth suit you've tried on?"

"Seventh." He says.

"Whatever." She snaps back. "Look, you'd look good in a plastic bag. Seriously. Why are you even asking me what I think?"

"The critical eye of a woman is invaluable in judging one's appearance." He replies, as though the answer is obvious. "I would value your opinion."

Jane throws her hands up.

"Loki, look, you're gorgeous! Okay?! You look fucking beautiful! Like you've looked beautiful in everything you've tried on for the past hour and a half or whatever it's been. Can we just get out of here now?"

And like a blanket being thrown across his face, the god's expression goes blank, and then there is the briefest flash of what Jane thinks is rage, glittering in his eyes, and for an instant, her heart hammers painfully in her chest.

"Do not mock me, Jane Foster." He says, voice icily calm and cold.

"… What?" Jane blinks, confused.

And Loki is standing stiffly now, rigid. Almost… guarded.

"I know my own appearance, Jane Foster. You need not antagonize me for it. I have had well enough of that for centuries."

Jane's brow furrows, confusion only deepening.

"Loki, what are you even tal…"

"I know I am not Thor." He cuts her off, voice sharp and angry.

And suddenly it dawns on her, and she feels her heart sink, and her stomach twist in sickened knots.

"Loki…" she breaths quietly, looking at him seriously. Her head shakes. "I wasn't making fun of you."

He's glaring back at her, eyes narrowed in obvious mistrust, and she feels her heart sink further, her throat tighten.

What happened to him, she wonders, to have made him like this? To have made him so defensive, so suspicious?

To believe when someone pays him a compliment, that they can only be playing some cruel joke?

She recalls, suddenly, some of the things said by both brothers on their journey before. Thor telling her with regret thick in his voice that he wasn't a good brother. Loki accusing him and his friends with ragged resignation of purposefully causing him humiliation for their own glorification.

Loki doesn't believe her.

She can see it in his eyes.

Usually so impossible to read, to see anything but a blank nothing in.

She can see so much, so plainly now.

And without thinking, she stands from her chair, stepping forward and reaching out. Her hand finds his, thin fingers curling round the cool, pale skin of his palm as she looks directly up at him.

She feels him stiffen further, and a flash of confusion rushes across his expression, before he schools it into that familiar blankness.

"Loki," she says softly. "I'm not making fun of you. Okay? I swear. You really, really look beautiful. You look amazing."

He's looking at her like he doesn't understand the words coming out of her mouth. Like she's speaking some language he doesn't know, and she feels a horrible urgency to make him believe.

"Loki, how can you not see what you look like?" She asks in nearly a whisper. "You're so handsome."

And then he's gently shaking her grip loose from him, and stepping back, shaking his head.

He smiles, but the expression is frail, false.

"Of course." He says, and the usual, impossible confidence of his voice seems utterly vanished. Jane thinks she hears a tremor run beneath, and she reaches a hand up again, watching as Loki takes another step away. "I shall…" he pauses. "I shall gather my selections and we may depart, as you wish."

And then he turns, and disappears back into the dressing room, closing the door behind him.

Jane's arms falls, limp at her side, and she wonders what the hell she did wrong.

/

They make it back to Jane's apartment a short while later, several bags in tow, Loki carrying them all.

Jane's eyes had gradually grown wide in alarm as the cashier had wrung them up, and she'd eventually turned to Loki and told him that there was no way she was paying for any of it, and she hoped he realized that.

Loki had only laughed softly and proceeded to produce a wad of hundred dollar bills from his pocket.

Jane is almost afraid to ask where he got the money from, because she knows he doesn't have a job.

Standing outside her apartment door as she fumbles for her keys, she glances sideways at him, noticing he's rummaging through his acquired lot of new clothes, and faint smile on his face.

"So," she begins. "where, uh… where'd you get all that cash?"

Loki stops, looking up at her a moment with a clear expression of incomprehension.

Jane stares back, blinking.

"You know," she says. "the money you bought your clothes with."

And his eyes light with understanding, smiling wide.

"Ah." he says. And she watches as he waves his hand, another stack of hundreds appearing in his palm, seemingly out of thin air.

Jane gazes a moment, bemused, before her eyes flit up to his face, and she stammers…

"Wais a second. You didn't just… did you magic that money? I mean… what the hell do you call it? Conjure?"

His widening grin tells her all she needs to know, and she begins shaking her head.

"Loki, no, you… you can't do that! Are you serious? You can't just make money! Do you know how illegal that is?"

He looks at her as though he doesn't know at all, smile slipping slightly from his face, and Jane growls in frustration, returning to digging through her bag, muttering about how much trouble she's going to get in with him around.

"Indeed," she hears him say. "god of mischief, and all of that."

She looks up at him, mouth agape, the smile firmly back in place upon his lips.

"Oh my God," she breathes, finally finding her keys and pulling them out, focusing on undoing the doors lock.

"Precisely." Loki says, and Jane grits her teeth.

"By the way," he continues as she turns the lock and begins to push the door open. "it would appear we have company."

"What?" Jane asks, stopping partway through opening the door, and Loki nods his head towards it.

"There is someone in your apartment." He explains, and Jane's entire frame goes rigid, stomach dropping in fear.

"What do you mean?" She asks, voice edging on frantic. "You mean, like, somebody from SHIELD, or…"

Loki shakes his head.

"The decidedly non-hostile, though aggravating presence from yesterday." He says. "But I know her not. You perhaps would be better qualified in determining her level of threat."

Jane blinks, trying to remember, and then her eyes go wide.

"Darcy!?" She asks, and Loki only looks at her in confusion.

And at that moment, she hears her friend's voice, drifting towards them from the other side.

"Jane!?" She calls.

"Oh, Jesus." Jane breathes, hand tightening on the doors knob. "What are we going to do?"

"Jane?" Darcy's voice is suddenly closer, and at once, the door is being tugged from the other side, and Jane feels an irrational need to pull it back shut.

But she lets it go, bracing for the reaction. Loki stands beside her, seemingly utterly unconcerned.

And then Darcy is standing there, her eyes on Jane only an instant before she's staring up at the god, eyes round and wide in shock, mouth hung open.

Loki smiles at her, and she starts, gaze shifting back to Jane.

"Uh, okay…" she says. "what the effing hell?"

/

Loki sits on the couch, staring back as Jane's odd little friend sits crouched in front of him, staring in return. His hands are placed, relaxed along his thighs, expression a mask of nothing as Darcy's eyes narrow in scrutiny, as though that will somehow allow her to see past it and through him.

Jane is somewhere in the background, pacing restlessly with her cell cradled against her ear, gesticulating wildly as she talks to someone on the other end, voice edged in agitation.

They'd all stared at each other for long seconds out in the hallway, before Jane had abruptly grabbed him by the hand and unceremoniously dragged him into the apartment, pushing Darcy in with them and slamming the door closed.

Loki wonders idly if this will be a common sort of occurrence. Jane dragging him around like some stuffed child's toy. For some reason he can't fathom, it doesn't bother him.

Loki is motionless, and he can see Darcy beginning to fidget.

He's never lost a staring contest, and there have been many he's stared off against.

Finally, she blinks, and stands.

"Sooooo…" she begins. "You're, like, Thor's brother, aren't you?"

Loki's lips pull into a thin line, and Jane chooses that moment to hang up.

"Darcy!" She chides.

"I am Loki of Asgard." Loki replies, voice tight and controlled and thick with warning. "Prince and once King of the Realm Eternal. I am a god and a sorcerer of great power. A scholar and a trickster and a liar. I am many things. I once was related to Thor the Thunderer if not by blood, then in bond, but no longer either. I do not associate with him any longer."

Darcy blinks again, staring back at him for long moments, before finally, she lets out a long whistle, as though impressed.

"Wow, so… sibling rivalry, huh?"

Loki frowns, and Jane grabs Darcy's hand, tugging her back a step, hissing her name sharply.

"What!?" Darcy says, confused.

"Your friend is without proper etiquette." Loki says, eyes moving to Jane.

"I know, I'm sorry." Jane replies, clearly embarrassed. "Darcy, you're being rude."

"What, just cause I ask the guy a few questions?" Darcy protests, pulling her hand free from Jane's grip. "The same guy who almost blew up New York!"

"Oh my God, Darcy!"

And like that, the direction of conversation switches.

Loki's brow furrows, head cocking curiously to the side.

"Why do you swear to a singular god?" He asks, seemingly totally unfazed by Darcy's accusation.

"What?" Jane asks, Darcy turning to look at Loki with her.

"You use the phrase often, 'oh my god'. But you know very well there is more than one of us. There are many. Why do you not then use the plural, 'oh my gods'?"

"Is this guy for real?" Darcy asks.

It takes a moment for Jane's brain to process everything that was just said.

"Uh," she starts, head shaking. "just… it… it's an expression. Most, um… most of the Western world believes in a single Christian God, and it's… it's become a common expression to… to swear to him when you're surprised or angry or… anything."

She trails off, unable to believe she's telling all of this to Loki.

"Christian god?" The trickster questions, brow furrowing.

"Yeah, you know, Jesus Christ." Darcy interrupts. "The actual God. I mean, if you believe and all."

"Pardon?" Loki asks. "Actual god?"

"Well, everyone knows you aren't really gods." Darcy says. "Right? You're just, like, super advanced alien beings or something."

Jane's eyes close and she cradles her head in her hands, feeling a headache coming on.

"We are gods." Loki says, firmly but oddly without defensiveness. "I assure you."

Darcy crosses her arms.

"But you're not all powerful." She argues.

Loki regards her silently a moment, smiling softly.

"You assume humanity's modern conception of what a god is to be absolute. You are wrong. There are many gods, of many things. Each of us holds dominion over a particular arena."

Darcy frowns, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh yeah?" She argues. "Then why is it if I pray to you, you don't answer? Shouldn't a god be able to hear a human's prayer?"

"You do not pray to any among us." Loki answers with a shrug. "If you did, and one who received such a prayer was feeling particularly generous, you would receive an answer. Though I must admit, none among the Aesir have opened themselves to hear prayers in many centuries. I suppose I was the last holdout. But then, I was always the only one who held any sort of strong interest in the affairs of mortals. When your people ceased to worship us and allowed us to fall into your myths and legends, those prayers became fewer and fewer, until even I saw little point in continuing. It has been perhaps three centuries since last I answered a human's beseeching cry."

Silence falls over the room then, Darcy and Jane staring bemused at Loki, Loki staring back at Darcy, expression implacable.

And then Darcy's eyes go wide, as though some sudden revelation has just befallen her, and she says…

"Get out of here! For real!? You can answer prayers? So, like, if I asked you for a boatload of money or something, you could give it to me?"

Jane feels her insides twist uncomfortably as what can only be described as a menacing grin spreads across the mischief god's face, and he answers…

"I have been known to grant the wishes of many a mortal, in bargains of fair exchange."

He holds out a hand to her, as though beckoning her forward.

"Would you care for a trade, Ms. Lewis?"

"Oooookaaaaay…" Jane intercedes, stepping between the two of them. "I think that's enough of that."

"What?" Darcy asks. "What! He wants to give me a whole bunch of money and solve my college tuition problems, I don't have a problem with that!"

Jane gives Darcy a death glare, and that shuts the political science major right up.

And then she sighs, and says in exasperation…

"Look, nobody's even supposed to know he's here."

"Well I'm nobody." Darcy answers, and Loki actually laughs.

Jane turns to look at him disapprovingly, and the god raises his hands in a gesture of innocence.

"'Twas well played Jane, even you must admit." He smiles at her.

And Jane can only growl in frustration, rolling her eyes to the heavens.

/

She tried to get Darcy to leave.

She really did.

But Darcy, bless her sentimental, sisterly, and completely idiot heart, insisted on staying. She told Jane it was because she was worried about her, and didn't trust her safety to a "crazy space Viking", as she so eloquently put it.

But in the several hours since she and Loki arrived back to her flat, and they'd all gotten over the initial issues of Darcy finding them out, the younger girl has done little but spend time with Loki. And Loki, to Jane's never ending confusion, seems almost to enjoy Darcy's company.

He certainly hasn't made any complaints yet.

Jane would have thought Darcy's often grating, intrusive, and loud behavior would be a huge turn off to the quiet, reserved and soft spoken god.

Currently, however, Jane is watching them from her kitchen table, the two of them sat on the floor in the center of her living room, across from one another, as Darcy shows and explains to Loki the wonder of her IPod, and its many amazing uses. The top of her head barely comes up to his shoulder, and they make the most odd pairing the physicist is sure she's ever seen.

Loki, beyond all reason, seems utterly fascinated.

"I just downloaded, like, a thousand songs onto it from my computer." Darcy's voice carries across the space loudly. "So much work, but so worth it." She goes on.

She's holding the device in the palm of her hand, scrolling through the list of artists, angling so that Loki can see what she's doing.

"See, its touch screen." She says, picking some random selection.

Loki's eyes light up as the tinny music begins to filter weakly out of the IPod's pathetic little speakers.

And then he's snatching the thing out of Darcy's hand and bringing it closer to his face, examining it as he turns it this way and that.

"Hey!" Darcy protests, trying to swipe it back, but Loki moves away.

"What manner of sorcery is this?" He asks. "I have never seen its like before." His eyes narrow suspiciously.

Darcy blinks.

"Huh… Duran Duran." She says.

Loki just looks at her a moment, clearly lost, before returning his attention to the device.

He begins playing with the screen.

"You better not break it bozo, or I'll make you buy me a new one, and replace all the songs."

If Loki hears her, he gives no indication.

Somehow, he manages to select a different track, and Jane thinks she can hear Madonna's "Like a Virgin" playing from it.

"Here…" Darcy says, pulling out her ear buds from her pants pocket. She reaches over, slipping the jack into place while Loki still holds the mp3 player, and then proceeds to lift one of the buds up to his ear, shoving it in without permission.

Jane would laugh at what happens next, if Loki didn't look so monumentally freaked out.

His eyes go wide in a startled expression, and he actually staggers back, falling onto his haunches before reaching up and ripping the bud almost violently from his ear.

Darcy is staring at him with her own look of astonishment, before suddenly, she bursts into laughter.

Loki looks anything but amused.

"Dude, you're worse than Thor!" She says, slapping her knee. "I didn't think it was possible! But you're, like, totally technology stupid, aren't you?"

"You call me dimwitted?" He returns, voice edged in warning. "Me? Loki, god of mischief and lies? I who is considered cleverest of the gods? I who is magic and fire and wit?"

Jane groans, letting her head fall to her hands on the table. She should be more concerned, she knows. But… really? This is her life?

Darcy is still giggling, shaking her head.

"Dude, no. It's just… it's hilarious to see you guys with our technology. You really don't have anything like this back on Asgard?"

Loki regards her for a moment silently, as though trying to determine the sincerity of her claim. And then, finally, slowly, he shakes his head.

"Dude, that's just sad." She answers. "You don't have music even?"

Loki blinks.

"We have music." He replies plainly.

"Well, what kind?" She presses.

Loki takes a moment to think.

"It is, perhaps, akin to what you mortals might call 'orchestral'. There are many fine musicians amongst the gods."

He pauses a moment, and Jane lifts her head, and she swears, for an instant, there is a brief hesitation in Loki's expression before he says, voice quiet and nearly shy.

"I play some myself." He says. "I have even…" that hesitation again, and Jane is convinced now Loki is actually embarrassed by what he's saying. "I have even featured in quartets to entertain the court, or celebratory feasts. Though… thought such is forbidden practice to one of my rank."

"What, you mean, like, you weren't allowed?" Darcy asks, astonished.

Loki shakes his head.

"I was forced to disguise myself if I wished to partake, I'm afraid."

Silence settles over the group for a long instant, Darcy and Jane both staring at the mischief god uncertainly.

And a familiar pang suddenly clutches inside Jane's chest, remembering back to the banquet, after the dark Elves had been defeated… the glaring omissions among the gathered warriors… how no one had made mention… no one had spoken of their disgraced Prince…

Even though it had been him… it had been him who'd saved them all…

Suddenly Loki is standing, smiling vaguely.

"The words this woman sings are uncouth." He says.

Darcy grins lopsided.

"Well, yeah." She says. "It's Madonna! That's not even her worst song!"

Loki nods, as if he has any idea of what Darcy is talking about, and then he says, utterly serious…

"I rather enjoy this music."

And without another word, he turns, walking off and disappearing into Jane's bedroom, Darcy's Ipod and ear buds still in his possession.

"Hey!" Darcy yells after him. "Hey, that's mine!"

But Loki pays her no mind at all.


End file.
